Something Better
by Striped-Tie
Summary: It began as just another day of babysitting. Follows a reunion of Steve and Claire, the trauma that comes with being locked up an experimental facility and healing time ahead. Still full of jokes, while serious at most points, because that seems to be how I roll. ClairexSteve and pretty clear ChrisxJill.
1. Something Better

Post RE5 but I haven't even bothered to play RE6 so it doesn't exist in my fanfic universe -snort- I'm terrible sorry :v

Timeslines always suck, so if I follow the timeline ( + Evans age) Claire should be 33 and RE6 would have triggered.

So please apply Fanfic logic, I had intended for Claire to be like. 26, or 27 at the time. So please roll with that. Partial AU logic. Umph.

Also bringing back little Evans - for anyone new to my fics, he's Chris and Jill's 4-year-old son. One of my other fics, Aunty Claire, was mostly about him and his Aunt. This is meant to be after that one :o

* * *

The car was unusually quiet on the ride to Claire's home. There had been some lively chatter earlier, but half way through the drive it had stopped. Pulling up to the red lights, Chris glanced at his son with the drivers' mirror.

Evans was looking out the window, seemingly off in his own thoughts, something that was unusually. On a regular occasion, he would be more than happy to narrate his thoughts to anyone that was within earshot.

"Is something wrong, Tiger?" Chris asked gingerly, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel.

"No... I'm just thinking." The child responded half-heartedly.

"Hey, that's not like you - What about?" Chris asked with a bit of jest, which was completely missed by his son.

"Just that Auntie's like mummy." Evans replied nonchalantly.

Chris gave a light laugh. "They're certainly both the most headstrong women I've ever known." He began.

"No, Daddy." Evans shot back sternly. A pause passed between the two before he corrected his father, "Sometimes like mummy, Aunty just... Looks so sad."

Chris frowned, turning his gaze back to the lights. He returned to that pause, quiet as he himself fell into thought. He thought over what he'd say, although it was hard to simplify it. "Both your mother and your aunty have been through a lot, Evans. And they both love you."

"I just don't want them sad anymore." Evans sighed as pressing himself into the cars cushioned backing with a frown.

"The best you can do is be there for them. The rest is their own battle." Chris responded.

Evans looked to his father, a little confused by the answer. "I don't understand?" he asked.

Once again Chris paused, rethinking it over again, before sparking an idea. "Ahh, this is a talk for when you're much older... Just be sure to make sure your Aunty has fun! Okay? Same with mummy. That's what you can do to make them feel better."

"Okay!" The child beamed, seemingly happy with this new advice.

His happy nature was maintained the rest of the ride to Claire's home, and appeared to carry on for some time following, having nearly barreled Claire over as soon as she opened the door.

"Hello to you, too, Evans!" She called after him, as he immediately dived onto the couch. She shook her head and nodded to greet her brother. "He's certainly gotten energetic fast, hasn't he?"

"I'm starting to think Jill's slipping him chocolate behind my back. Well, he's your problem now." Chris shrugged with a smirk, receiving a playful thump to the shoulder.

"Meanie head, why's your kid so nice when you're a big jerk?" Claire laughed, before putting her hands on her hips. "Good to see you. How's the missus?"

"Getting big," Chris whistled, hands shoved in his pockets. "Little one should be here in a month I think, I've honestly lost track of the dates."

"That's good."

"Very Frisky." he added. "All the hormones."

Claire immediately threw her hands up, "Yes, too much! Halt, stop, be silent and hold thy peace! I am but a humble babysitter and anti-bioterrorist agent, I know not of this world you speak of!"

"If you weren't my sister and I was likely to kill every man I see, I'd ask how long it's been since you've slept with someone with that sort of action."

"Hold thy tongue, heathen! Leave this sacred place; you are not permitted to seek shelter in the pillow forts your son will construct!"

"When did you start watching medieval dramas instead of Soap Operas?" Chris quizzed.

"All of my usual series on public television are on filming hiatus and my cable got blown out last week. Got half the channels now so I make due with what I have." She explained matter-of-factly, "Now, leave before I banish you from my kingdom! ... Pick-up's at 3, right?"

"Yes milord, and I will give the queen your blessing."

Always an interesting parting between the two, Chris strolled back to his car and Claire wondered back inside to see the damage. Straight to the lounge, like she knew he would.

A few toys and little crafting supplies dumped on the floor near the television.

She'd set it up earlier, but hadn't planned on the whole area being trashed within the first five minutes. Evans had scrambled through his books, misplaced his toys and miniature robots and got straight to colouring outside of some lines, although even this last action bored him quite early as Claire sat down.

Soon the soft clicking sounds commenced, each of the connector texta pens disappearing one by one.

Claire raised her eyebrow curiously. "What'cha got there?" She quizzed, setting over beside him and kneeling down. He turned, pointing a golden coloured end of the marks to her.

"Pew pew! I'mma shoot you dead!"

"Oh no, but I have so much to live for!" Claire cried dramatically, grabbing the 'barrel' of the gun the little one had constructed from the connector pens. She pointed off to the side gently as he grinned. "I haven't even taken over the world yet!"

"I wanna fight evil like you and mum and dad!" Evans pepped up, taking Claire aback. Little texta assault rifles and bioterrorism were pretty different things, although not to the boys little mind.

"Noooo you don't!" She responded, grabbing some of the free textas and mindlessly placing them against one another, "No no no, you should do something better. Why don't you be a policema- A fireman?" She suggested.

"Fire's hot."

Claire paused. "... This is true. What about an Astronaut?"

The little one jumped and began waving his arms around excitedly. "Yeah! It's gonna be so cool! I'll go zoom!" With that he took off across the room, nearly tripping on the mat. Claire laughed lightly, making a mental note to move the table as well. "Do you think there are zombies on the moon?!"

"Nooooo! ... Only aliens!"

"Can I shoot aliens, Aunty?"

"Only if he shoots first." The comment went over Evans head, and the woman laughed to herself and flopped back onto her big comfy couch. She hummed, pawing for her remote control and starting to scroll some channels she'd already picked out.

Evans seemed contented with his play pretend, which left Claire a little freedom in what she got to watch. She ended up choosing to respark her childhood (Or rather, in her teens) appreciation of Tabaluga. Australians had odd television.

A back to back running, and she was half asleep through the second running. She'd had some DVDs sorted out prior, but was feeling herself getting far too lazy to go through with her schedule. It was really only the few action sounds from Evans that kept her from dozing off entirely.

He'd since moved back to drawing properly, apparently illustrating his toys in an all out cybertronic war. It may have been pretty interesting, but all Claire could make out were flashes of colours on the once blank page. "Such a lazy day... Lazy, but boring." She sighed. "I gotta get up, or I'll wake up with marker all over my face."

Lazily she got up from her seat, stretching her arms up and yawning. What she needed was a cup of coffee, for sure, and to start cooking some lunch. Cheese and Tomato sandwiches sounded pretty good. A little grilled, a small treat given how much of a stickler she was against take-away.

A few of the tomatoes in her fridge had managed to withstand recent time, and were still quite fresh for the most part. Score. She'd just started up chopping the troublesome fruit... Uh, vegetable? Chopping the troublesome deliciousness-

_Ding!_

Claire paused chopping, listening carefully for a moment. Tossing her gaze to the doorway she contemplated on if she could remember anyone planning to come around. Nothing popped into mind.

"You told me Daddy wasn't coming until after Reboot!" Evans called, looking up from his colouring and seeming quite upset by the development. He quickly got to his feet, and ran over to the kitchen's door frame to peer in.

"I had Reboot planned for two o'clock..." Claire responded a tad confused. She took a glance at the clock - it was only twelve thirty. "That was what he said to me, if it was something important he would have called me first. Probably a late parcel." She mused.

From where she was she could just see the front door, but no clear view of whoever it was. The front door wasn't too far off. Rather, she could see a shadow cast through the tinted glass door. From the impression she could get from the shadow, they seemed to be fidgeting.

"Then I'll get the door!" Evans called giddily as he dashed to the door, opening it without a second thought. Claire barely had time to even register what the little boy had said before a voice was heard.

"Ahh... Hey, is your mother home?"

Claire's heart jumped straight into her throat. "Evans! Come back here right now!"

Overprotective instincts kicked in, although given certain enemies in her own life it may not have been an over reaction. Despite a very small prang of familiarity in the persons voice in the back of her subconscious, she was taking no chances.

"My mummy doesn't live here." Evans answered, almost confused.

"Evans!" Claire had flung one of the draws open, hunting for one of the guns she kept hidden in the house. 45, 45, where the hell was it...

"Oh, I see... So does Claire still live here?"

"EVANS!" She practically threw herself out of the kitchen.

"Yes. Why would Mummy live with Aunty? You're-" The little one wasn't able to finish his statement as his aunt forcibly pulled him back from his shoulder and put herself between him and the door.

She had her gun ready at her side, and had gotten quick to the draw. "You- Who are you, how do you know me and what do you want?" Claire snapped, before looking down to Evans quickly. "And you, Mister! Your parents have told you to let them open the door; it's the same here unless I know for sure it's them!"

"I'm soorrryyyy," Evans sobbed, wincing and trying to draw his arm from her grasp. "Aunty Claire, you're hurting my wrist!"

"Sorry Sugar, I'll let go in a moment." Claire sighed, loosening her grip slightly, although still somewhat hesitantly.

"He's alright, you can let him go." The visitor stated, although apparently just as hesitant as Claire herself.

"Intros, Mystery Man." Claire threatened. She quickly looked him up and down, what she saw not helping ease her adrenaline rush.

He was dressed darkly, heavy looking maroon bandana tied around his neck. His jacket slunk across his shoulders, the sides seemingly weight down. The buttons remained open, revealing the grayed shirt, which somehow seemed darker than it should be, as well as apparent bandages- Underneath and covering the fingers of his left arm. In fact it covered more than that, wrapped tightly around his chest (or so Claire would assume), and a segment covering his face, leaving only one of his blue eyes showing. The bandages themselves seemed to part some of his hair, making it appear far more messy that it probably would be on a normal occasion.

The fabrics itself was stained with time and faded... Blood.

"No offense there, but you're probably scaring my nephew and it looks as if you got torn up by some dogs."

He shook his head, not particularly taking in too much of the information. "The dogs were some of the few things I got along with there."

"Alright. Step back from the door and turn around." Claire instructed. Her guest sighed, but followed the instruction. He raised his hands, as if joking about the situation. "You're pushing your luck."

"Relax, beautiful." He purred, taking Claire off guard. Something so very familiar about his tone as he carried on. He glanced over his shoulder and seemed to smile warmly. "My name's Steve, and I'm not a prisoner any longer."

Her gun arm trembled and she gripped her gun tightly. She remained silent, simply staring at his back.

"Can I turn around now?"

She bit her lip, her eyes watering. "Don't. Don't you dear - I don't think I could hold myself together."

She wiped some of the moisture from her eyes, and during that moment of distraction he had turned and embraced her. "It's alright gorgeous, I'll hold you up," He smiled, "Just do the same for me."

Claire sighed deeply, letting a tender moment be for a beat.

She pushed away from him suddenly, raising her gun to him. He flinched, but quickly recovered. "I can't blame you for not trusting me, but I am a little upset. First you don't recognize me, then..."

"Shut up," She snapped halfheartedly. "Even if it's you, how do I know you're not damn ballistic? You died..."

He scratched the back of his head and looked away. There wasn't really a way he could explain it to her, since he couldn't explain it himself. He knew answering 'Will of the Umbrella Corp' wouldn't exactly aid his reputation now.

"I could go for a coffee." He shrugged.

Claire simply looked back amazed. "Are you kidding me? That doesn't-"

"What's your name again?"

Evans had squeaked the question from behind Claire, who had since let go of her grip. She turned to tell him off, but Steve knelt down to see Evans eye-to-eye. He extended his hand, the unbandaged one specifically.

"I'm Steve, I'm an old friend of your Aunties. It's nice to meet you." Steve offered. Evan took the mans hand and did his best to shake it enthusiastically.

"Iiii'm Evans, Aunty's my Aunty!" He responded with a chirp, quickly taking his hand back. "I'll get chocolate milk for you!" And with that he sprinted off to the kitchen.

"Evans! Really?! Jeez... I guess that's settled." Claire grunted, frustrated but seeming to have dropped her guard a bit. She shook her head, looking at Steve. "I know it's you, I thought maybe yeah, but I didn't want to risk, you know. Ah, Evans is like a dog... If you're a bad person he knows. It's the strangest instinct."

"So I'm in the clear then? Remind me to give the little man a high-five." Steve smirked, walking in as Claire begrudgingly stepped out of his way.

"Keep in mind, you hurt him, I'll still shoot you. Between the eyes." Claire threatened, closing the door and hunting about one of the draws yet again. She snapped a holster from the drawer around her waist, pointing it out to Steve as she holstered her gun. "One quick draw away from a bullet, just remember that."

"Practicing your aim?" Steve quizzed.

"I've had a lot of things to shoot at the last few years, despite trying to get as much deskwork and public relation gigs as I can get." She explained, though some tenseness noticeable in her voice. "And hey, remember who shot out your spotlight."

"Yeah, that was a mean move, but zombies don't shoot."

"You call them zombies these days and you'll get shot." Claire snorted, catching herself.

"Hey, c'mon. I've missed that laugh." He smiled, slinking an arm around Claire's shoulders.

"I could punch you in the dick right now."

"Ooo, you're so scary." He smiled.

She rolled her eyes, ducking out from his embrace. "If you still want that coffee I'll start brewing, I think he's forgotten about that chocolate milk right now. Memory of a goldfish."

She sauntered towards her kitchen, but once more patted her holster in warning. As she did so however, a little hand grabbed at her pants leg. She looked down to Evans, with his arms raised up to her.

"Are you acting up because we have company?" Claire asked, before getting down on her knees. Without hesitation, he jumped up on her shoulders and rested his arms on top of her head. She stood back up, although lost her balance a tad, but continued to the kitchen as 'Choo choo' echoed from Evans.

"Isn't he heavy?" Steve asked, following the two - half expecting Claire to slip and the two to go falling.

"When you're an Aunt you're always strong enough!" Claire stated confidently, grabbing some milk from the fridge while balancing the conductor, who announced some bizarre station names. "Are you saying I'm not strong enough to lift up a kid? I have Redfield genes, I'll have you know! I could punch a boulder and win!"

"A boulder? Why would..." Steve shook his head - somehow he knew there was no way he'd get it any sort of explanation.

"Do you have any cream or-"

"Aunty Claire." Evans interjected.

"Yes Sugar?" Claire quizzed, ignoring Steve for a moment.

"We need to get off the train." Evans stated bluntly, staring off to nowhere. "There are spiders."

"... Ooookay sweetie, we stop at this station then." She struggled for a moment, but managed to lift Evans from her shoulders and place him back on the ground. He toddled off, quickly finding something unrelated to amuse himself with.

"I know it's not place to say but... Your nephew's a weird kid." Steve commented, walk up behind Claire and surveying the coffee situation.

She paused for a moment, feeling him look over her shoulder. "... Have you ever had coffee, Steve?" He bit his lip and didn't answer, causing the lass to stifle a laugh. "Oo, someone's just trying to look cool."

"I guess I'm not impressing you then, huh?"

"We'll start you with a Mocha," She smiled briefly. Her shoulder slumped a second later, herself falling quiet for some time. Steve felt awkward even with the idea of breaking the silence before she did. "You're acting as if you haven't been out of my life for more than a week, Steve..."

He shuffled on his feet, hesitating. "Ahh, it's kinda like that for me." He admitted meekly. "You've been on my mind for so long, it's like you kinda didn't leave ya know?"

"I don't, but that's both eerie and really sweet." Claire hummed softly, leaning back against Steve. A blush broke out across his cheeks. "Now, do me a favour and play with Evans, will you? I can see over the counter, so just remember-"

"That it's one draw and I'll get lead between my eyes. I gotcha."

As Claire took her weight from him he quietly walked to the lounge. It was only a stones throw away, and Claire told the truth about being able to see. The counter was broad, and saw straight into the loungeroom.

Steve planted down on the main sofa. He considered taking his jacket off, considering he was beginning to overheat, but the bandages seemed to cause him some anxiety. It was that or worse, so it wasn't as if he could complain.

He only had a few moments to think, before Evans shoved a pink car into his hands. He raised a brow and looked it over for a moment, before Evans gasped and quickly snatched it back.

"Your favourite car?" Steve quizzed. Evans shook his head.

"Nooo, no driver. I don't want ghost cars. That ended weird last time. They flew."

"Is that so?" Steve smiled, still a tad taken aback by the childs demeanour. Within a moment, Evans had shoved the car back into Steves hands, equipped with a new driver.

Batman, of all things.

"Hm, yeah, I can see him cruising in one of these." Steve mused, holding the car up. Truthfully, he wasn't exactly sure what Evans wanted him to do with it. He looked at the young boy, who had seated himself on the ground and was barreling his own toy car into little figurines, knocking down the helpless pedestrians.

"Excuse me young man!" Claire called from the kitchen, ready to scold the child. "Are you running over humans, or zombies?!"

"Alieeens! I'm an Astronaut!" The child chimed back, ramming the car into an already down figurine.

"Good answer! Carry on!"

Steve snorted. Something about the discussion and the interaction made him feel... Contented. He brushed aside the small thought of it being Paternal Instinct suddenly developing, and put it down to amusement from the otherwise feisty woman.

"Mr. Steve?"

"Yeah, kid?" It snapped Steve from his stupor. What exactly was with the 'Mr.' business...?

Evans idly played with his little cars as he spoke. "Aunty wouldn't answer me last time so I gotta ask you." Evans explained matter-of-factly. Steve nodded, awaiting the question. "What's sex?"

Steve sat straight up, then quickly stood up, "Oh _hell no_, I have no experience to answer this, kid!" Steve babbled, looking over his shoulder to the kitchen. "Claire! Help me out!"

"Who wants to watch more Tales From The Crypt?!" Claire sang, sliding into the lounge, remote in hand. Evans cheered, complete distracted as Claire clicked the TV back on. That familiar, sinister laughter rang through the room and startled Steve more than he already was.

"Hey that's a nice save and all, but is that much better? I remember that show a bit." Steve asked. Claire shrugged.

"Eh, kids don't seem to notice the adult themes, and if he does... Hey, he gets his answer."

"You're a terrible aunt!" Steve chuckled, sitting back on the sofa and clasping his hands together.

"Nah, just resourceful." Claire smiled, ducking back into the kitchen and grabbing the mugs, passing Steve his before sitting down beside him.

"I don't remember liking kids much." Steve commented quietly, hoping for Evans not to hear him.

"You've grown up!" Claire pepped in, "... Plus, Evans is a sweetheart. If you didn't like him, I'd have to punch you."

"Weirdly enough I'd hold you to that." Steve said, glancing at his mug. He'd take a sip - in a moment, just for now his limbs were starting to feel slightly weak and his eyes tired.

Ah. Shit. He knew this feeling, way too well. It was coming on fast.

"What, you're not going to try and make a pass at me now?" Claire chuckled, before pausing. "Are you alright?"

He nodded slowly, handing his cup to Claire. He held the handle to her, hand clasping the very hot mug in his palm. "Could you, could you hold this for me?"

Claire set her own mug on the table and Steve's followed suite. She put a hand on his shoulder and the other on the knee. "Steve, what's wrong?" She asked, pushing the subject.

"Just a little tired. Maybe... Really tired right now." He answered, although his voice was beginning to waver. "I'm sorry... I'm not a good house guest." He leaned over, slipping slightly. His consciousness was fleeting and he felt quite guilty for doing so in her presence.

"Steve," She shook him slightly, and he tiredly batted her hand away. "You can't just tell me you're fine when you look like you're about to go into coma!"

"That's kinda it." He halfheartedly admitted, "Please don't look so upset, I'll be back up in a tick. It's the end of the month, isn't it?"

"Yes, but what does that have to do with-"

By this point even Evans had taken noticed, and had fallen quiet while he watched, a tad scared.

"I knew it... Damn." He mumbled quietly. He tapped his bandaged wrist, "This, nothing big. Just... Gonna sleep for a little. Please don't let me roll off the couch..."

With that he slumped onto his side, seemingly slipping off into sleep, or something similar. Claire immediately felt for his pulse, fearing the worst. ... Would it have even been there before?

She felt the light beat against her fingers. He did seem... Fine, if the incident wasn't out of the ordinary. She placed her hand on his chest and shook him again. He didn't respond and showed no hint of waking.

She sighed, not entirely sure how to feel. "Well, may as well use this to my advantage and see what you've got under those bandages. Seriously, you look like a damn mummy hybrid." Claire sighed, though smiled softly. She reached for his jacket, and eased it off the best he could with his angle. As out of it as he was, he wasn't really easy to move.

"Hey Evans, can you get me the first aid kit from the bathroom? I have a smaller one under the sink for things like this." Claire requested, trying to give her quite confused little nephew something to occupy himself with.

"Uhmm what's the first aid kit?" He asked after a moment.

"It's that big box with all the bandaids and stuff in it we use when someone's hurt."

Evans nodded, but as he walked off he paused. "Is Mr. Steve hurt?" He asked, concerned.

"No Sugar," She answered, "But I want to make sure he's not secretly sick."

"Isn't that the same thing?" He asked, before retrieving the small kit. Claire gave a quick thanks, before opening the small box up. It was a more portable version, but had some essentials. She took out the small sharp medical scissors. She cut up the right side of the bandages, mildly amused. She pulled some back as she loosened, then paused with a frown.

"What are those?" Evans asked, pointing to the red marks on the side of his exposed torso. She hadn't even removed the bandages from the left side, the most covered part.

"Those are... Bullet wounds, Sugar." Clare explained. "A little bit healed, but they must be hurting Steve a lot."

"Caaan you fix him?" Evans asked, leaning on the sofa arm.

She nodded without hesitation. "Of course I can, I'm Aunty, aren't I? It's going to be a big job though, so when I start, I want you to watch TV until I call you back over, okay dear?"

Evans nodded, counting the obvious wounds. He counted five mean looking marks. "What about his other side?" Evans quizzed.

"We'll have to see." Claire said confidently, tugging the bandages. They came loose, and practically fell from the sides themselves. Claire stiffened once again, feeling herself shake for a moment. Bad memories replayed quickly in her mind.

"Aunty..."

"Yeah, this is..." She began, hesitating.

"He's a dinosaur!"

Claire looked at her nephew, who seemed suddenly ecstatic. It was most certainly not what she expected; she'd been anticipating sheer fear. She glanced back at Steve's arm and chest. His skin brightened about half way across his torso, becoming a dull green in colour. The skin was scale-like, reptilian in a way. Claire's chest tightened as she recognized the texture of that from long ago, after that... Ugh, she didn't want think about it.

Gently, she moved the bandages away from his face. Sure enough, where the bandage covered, it had appeared, although slightly more transparent on his face. Many questions came to her mind.

Finally, her nephews' words registered in her mind. She took a little longer to respond, but managed to compose herself. "... Oh? Well, maybe only part dinosaur, he doesn't look like a Tyrannosaurus."

"Can he be a T-rex, is he a T-rex?!"

"I don't think so, his arms aren't tiny." Claire stated, brushing her hand across his scaled cheek. "I'll patch him up, and then we can have our own dinosaur, right, Evans?"

The red haired man stirred under her touch. His eyes opened only a small fraction, and he seemed unable to actually see in front of himself. He pawed momentarily at the air, grabbing a hold of Claire's arm with his clawed hand.

"Claire, I'm sorry but I..." His words were dazed, and it didn't seem like he was completely conscious.

"What, Steve?" She felt her chest tighten once again as she feared any form of bad revelation.

"I still kinda, really, really like you." He answered quietly, before his eyes closed once again and he slipped back into passing out.

Claire let the words register slowly in her mind, feeling her face flush. "That's alright, I love you too. It's going to be okay Steve. I promise, you'll be alright..."

She sighed deeply; mind swimming as she tried to register what was happening. She'd take care of the bullets first, they seemed manageable. Her gaze traveled to his mutated arm, and a dark, metallic shackle pressing against his wrist.

_'This, nothing big...'_

He had pointed at his wrist, was that what he meant? It seemed like such a strange connection, but it was clear it wasn't a simple metal bangle. It dug into his scales, she wondered how he could even move that. Ah... Talon.

_Ding!_

"Oh no, not now!" Claire gasped, looking at the clock. Two Thirty... Dammit Chris, why couldn't you be late for once?!

"Daddy!" Evans squealed, completely ignoring Steve's slumbering state. Claire quickly tried to tell him to shush, but something more urgent sprung to mind.

"Evans! You can't let your Daddy inside, okay? Just meet him at the door." She stated rather than asked. Claire couldn't begin to think of how Chris would react to this, and it would be easier to keep him out of the loop for this one, she figured.

Yet the young boy still looked at her quizzingly. "Why not? Is something wrong?" He asked.

Claire thought for a second, trying to think quickly as the doorbell chimed again. "Uh, your daddy is afraid of dinosaurs!" She stated quickly, almost tripping over her own words. Evans gasped.

"He is?!"

"Yes!" she nodded, trying to convince him. "So don't let him in or he'll be scared of Steve!"

The little boy nodded and gave a yip in conformation, running to the door for his father, considering this time Claire was one hundred percent sure that it would be her brother. Now her stomach twisted with concern.

She sighed, leaning over Steve and giving him a quick kiss on the forehead.

"I don't know how we're going to get out of this, but I hope you know you're stuck with me now."


	2. Broken Reflection

A/N: Oh no I'm naming each chapter after Softengine songs. Send help.

Uhhh I need to take some time out and draw some art for the thumbnails sometime soon. I feel like my stuff should have their actual related pictures haha.

As per usual, RE no belongs to me. Enjoy.

* * *

The door creaked open as Claire stroked Steve's hand, contemplating her plan of action. A moment passed before a chill ran down her spine and she felt a pair of eyes glaring into the back of her head.

".. Evans, please tell me you didn't-"

Evans had come back into the lounge, holding his fathers hand. "Daddy said he's not scared of Dinosaurs!" Evans exclaimed, not seeing his fathers' disposition. If the man were an animal his hackles would surely be raised, or at least a rattlesnake tail going ballistic.

"_Claire..._"

Never work with children or animals. Sound advice, if not a little late to remember.

Claire pointed at the man accusingly. "YOU! How DARE you come to pick up your child early! Have you no respect?" She cried. She wasn't sure how else to try and defuse the unexpected situation. "You didn't even tell me you got over your secret fear! ... This isn't working at all, is it?"

"Not in the slightest." Chris shook his head. "Claire, step away from there and get behind me, now."

She knew immediately what he was talking about, against the cream couch the green on Steve's arm stood out like a paint splotch. "Ah no, it's totally fine! Collateral damage from a violent paint ball fight we had earlier!" Her explanation was totally plausible, right? "There's no need to use you like a meatshield."

"Claire."

She concluded her conversation skills under pressure were starting to become a bit rusty.

"Would you believe it's the result of a horrible food dye accident? Trying a new frog-skin jacket for a local fashion show?" Claire sighed. She simply shifted on the couch, as if getting a bit more comfortable. "Have a seat Chris, because I'm not moving off of this spot until Steve's decided to be more than a life-size pillow."

Chris raised a brow as he searched the back of his mind. "Steve? Who the hell is... Wait, that kid from the island?"

She huffed slightly. "Well, he's not a child anymore, clearly." She stated, "Weighs a ton in comparison to a kid like Evans. He's got some more muscles compared to back then to boot, quite nice. "

"Stop that!" Chris walked over to the sofa adjacent sofa, patting the cushion beside him for Evans to sit. He didn't take his eyes off of Claire while his son took his seat, only seeing Claire entirely confident about the current predicament. "You said he mutated, and you had to kill him."

"I guess I was wrong, huh?"

"Not entirely." He gestured to Steve's arm, looking sternly at Claire. "Sis, I'm pretty sure it goes without saying it's not safe."

"Which is why he needs me, and IT has a name, dammit." Her tone was just as stern. She crossed one leg over the other and placed her hands in her lap. She was clearly firm on the situation. "You of all people should understand this, Chris."

"I officially have no idea what you're talking about." His answer was blunt. Claire rolled her eyes at his cluelessness. Evans would probably be less dense.

She turned her attention back to the small med kit. She was thankful for having a number of them, since this one in particular would only have enough of what she needed for some wound cleaning. Removing all those bullets? Oh, this was going to be fun.

"Nurse, I could use a hand, please."

"You can't seriously be expecting me to help you with this! " Chris exclaimed, "Hell, I'm half expecting a damn parasite to jump out and—"

"I'll name him Danny and give him a little tophat, we'll watch the Aliens movies together. " Claire mocked, becoming rather frustrated at this point. "Evans, go watch Billy the Cat. … Hey, I haven't watched that in years come to think of it. Nurse, Scalpel! "

Evans ran off to flop on the carpet and do as instructed. Watching cartoons was hard work, after all, but someone had to do it.

"I'll call Jill." Chris sighed. He'd come to accept that his sisters' stubbornness matched that of his wife. "You owe me for making my pregnant wife drive."

Claire waited impatiently as Chris pulled out his phone and wondered off to call Jill. She did feel kind of bad about it, driving with a large stomach must suck. The conversation only took a few moments, ending with a 'Claire will explain it when you get here' after making it very, very clear to Jill that their son was fine.

Claire took the time to slip on some of the gloves from inside the kit. She knew not following some sort of protocol would be bad for treating the wounds, and piss off some random chick with a keyboard who gets up in arms about infection control.

"Doctor," Chris had finished his discussion and stepped back to 'work', although sounding less than happy as he made a grab for the sharper utensils when Claire barked at him.

"Glove up! You'd never last in a dental clinic!"

"Yes, boss, don't dock my pay!"

It took a moment for Chris to even find any of the gloves that fit him – but he managed, regardless, and so lost an excuse he may have had to stay out of the procedure. He grabbed one of the handles and scalpel blades, vaguely remembering something similar being used on the field, and they seemed to be one use, or 'one-patient' gear.

Cautiously, he opened the sterilized packaging and snapped it into onto the handle, handing it over to Claire reluctantly.

Chris turned his attention to his son, keeping an eye out to make sure that he didn't turn around and get a first hand experience of surprise surgical procedures. He did manage to pass the resources his sister requested… Demanded, rather.

He could only assume that Claire had been reading medical books on her off-time, as her tone remained confident and she completed her mission quite quickly - Or at least the removal of one of the embedded bullets.

Claire leaned back slightly, admiring her work. "Pretty solid, though I don't know if the dissolvable stitches would have been better for something like this… I think it's four more to go?"

"… How much lead does he have in him?" Chris question, rather surprised at the apparent number. "And should you being doing all that at once?"

"I'm not one to half-arse a job, Chris, I use my entire arse." Claire huffed, grabbing the scalpel. "And honestly, if he tried to fly the metal detectors would get the guards all over him. I'm starting to think he's a walking magazine clip."

The process was repeated several times, and Claire continued having no issue.

"Are you done?" Chris pestered. Evans show began rolling the episodes credits and he wasn't entirely confident that the next would begin before his child was bored.

"For now, I have a bad feeling he has more in his back, or maybe some fragments. There's been a few different looking rounds which concerns me." Claire explained, checking over her stitching work. "Looks like it should be fine even with some moving. Alright, help me with his arm."

Chris spun to look at his sister, who had leaned over and grabbed more utensils from the kit herself, "Hold up a second, you said we'd only need me to help with the bullet removal, and then you'd listen."

"I don't recall saying that, but if I did, I Liiiiied! When have I ever listened to you?" Claire asked, tossing a nail file to Chris. "Now help me get through this stubborn bastard of an accessory. I might have to find my chisel…"

* * *

_It was hard to pick which one was worse. The screaming alarms sounding above that spread out through the halls, or the red flashing lights that accompanied them. Without the strikes of crimson the halls would be pitch black, but…_

_He was having an easy time seeing in the pitch black. The fact made him feel uncomfortable._

_But, he had no-one else to blame for the sensory deprivation-style alarms but himself. When you break out of holding, it tends to send people into a bit of a panic. It's even worse when you knock out the first poor bastard you find, take their firearms and start knocking down anything that gets in your way._

_Honestly, he was almost appalled at himself for the destruction he caused. He had tried to think ahead but in the thrill of the moment with your life on the line, plans go to shit. Survival is what it came down to in the end._

_The body count didn't help, either. First practically deaf, visual disorientated, and then nose overcome with the stench of blood. Fantastic. Maybe he'd gone a bit overboard, but 'He ran into my knife ten times' seemed like a good analogy. Why couldn't people just run and get out of his way? And this bastard…_

_The man under his foot was rugged looking, decked out in his thickly padded gear and an unkempt mustache. He'd been one of the coordinators, but took part in keeping others in line. Particularly the 'subjects'._

_It was practically impossible to hear, but Steve knew something along the lines of 'filthy bastard' was being hissed by the soon-to-be-corpse._

_Steve felt a prang of guilt as he looked over the wallet in his hands. Taking from the dead, or mostly dead, seemed entirely disrespectful. _

_As soon as this had crossed his mind, memories sprung up - the tasers, in particular, stung most vibrantly in his mind. Although his name was lost in the moment, Steve recalled that the mustached bastard had a habit of setting the power on his taser higher than the others, getting some satisfaction from the extra pain inflicted to others._

_Steve clenched his jaw, momentarily baring his fangs before kicking the battered man in the ribs. Some blood spread from contact, and Steve simply stuffed the entire wallet into the pocket of his newly 'acquired' jacket. Some of the medical assistance had pretty nice taste in clothes._

_He'd take the money out later - while the rest of the world cost money to eat, at least the food surely wouldn't be tasteless as it had been the last few years. He grabbed the guards' gun, emptying it of what few bullets were left and compared to them to the rounds in the gun he had picked up._

_He's rather some better types of ammos, but they'd have to do. He loaded up what he could, and shoved the spares into a pocket other than the one containing the wallet. He shoved the barrel through a space in his belt and stormed to the central communication system._

_**Passcard required.**_

_Steve cursed under his breath, pulling that same wallet out of his pocket and tearing it in two. The red, shiny surface signaled that he'd gotten what he needed out of it. He hurriedly slammed it through the card reader, making a few attempts as he wasn't able to stop his hands from shaking._

_The screen flashed a brief text of acceptance, opening up to a database list. Steve tapped his forehead, trying to spur on ideas. He hadn't thought things out very far - he saw his chance and took it while his body still had energy in it. He'd figured he was pushing his limits already - weighing up what he could get from eating those rations compared to skipping all that and the Anesthesia drugs infused in it._

_Thinking about it, he was sure it was the adrenaline keeping him going, and the apparent bloodlust that spurred him on further._

_"Think, dammit, it's not that hard." He scolded himself, his hands resting above the keys in front of him. A few drops of crimson fell from his left hand, making him shudder. Shooting someone was one thing, but physically slashing someone, deep enough to tear through a ribcage? "I don't want to be this monster."_

_He shook any further thoughts about it from his head. He began typing in the few clues he could remember. Overly complicated commands and hidden directories, far too precise search field. _

_He swallowed the knot in his throat before carrying on which his initial inquiry._

_**'Redfield'. 4 Entries.  
Cl. Redfield  
Status Confirmed: Alive.  
Partial Location available.**_

**View Files?**

_He'd take it. A little detective work would do him some good. Maybe. He continued to try and justify it to himself. For a moment, he considered searching his own name. Perhaps somewhere a lost relative was hidden and listed in the database._

_No. He lost his home when the umbrella bastards caught his father. Dragging in any more of his family would just be a death wish for them, no doubt. Those friends he once had…_

_He glanced to his arm, the mutation spread throughout it. His heart sank, and he wearily looked back to the screen. If the people who knew him were still around, or if they even remembered him, all that had changed would be a bit too much. He hadn't grown up knowing too many level-headed people. Somehow in his mind, Claire seemed like the only logical option. In all fairness, she seemed to be what his mind thought most about. Throughout all these damn years she was what kept him sane._

_He quickly scanned the information on the screen, repeating it to himself several times. It gave a regular sounding state, supplied a town. The rest was a mystery, but he'd go bloodhound mode when he managed to get to the aircraft hanger. He hoped the interiors hadn't changed enough to confuse the few piloting memories he had._

_He pulled up an overly detailed map of the facility on the screen, and steeled himself to leave—_

_**Blam!** Click… Click…_

_He placed his palms on the keyboard, multiple windows popping up over the former information. He felt the blood trickle thinly from his mouth and down his chin. Growling in the back of his throat, he looked slowly over his shoulder._

_At the jarred steel doors stood a single security guard, illuminated by the warning lights flashing above. Although the lights seemed to withhold most visual cues, it wasn't hard to tell that they were scared shitless. Steve could smell the fear coming off of the guy. Unsurprising, as it was clear that the man had only had a single bullet remaining in his gun and that was now lodged in Steve's ribcage._

_"C'mon man, I've got a date! I was hoping to get out without too many holes in me," Steve growled, drawing the handgun from his belt. "Its guys like you are why people can't have nice things!"_

_A part of him felt bad – most of the security fellas were just trying to do their jobs. However, his job was to live, and unfortunately their work clashed. That, and the new hole in his back hurt like a sonuvabitch._

_For that one bullet, the guard got four more in return._

He groaned as he began coming out of his haze. His head felt heavy, and his vision was fuzzy. Essentially, it was just like every other time. Deep down he prayed this was the last time any of the drugs would be in his system. He didn't care about the eventual withdrawals or the headaches getting worse.

He just wanted it to stop. Each time, his heart raced - every incident built up in his memory. It had always been an avalanche of horrendous pain and the introduction of more tranquilizers. He knew things would be easier if he didn't lash out but he couldn't manage to swallow his pride, even after so many years. It only served to raise the sedative doses upwards. Going from 0.3 mls to 0.6 mils, then 1mls and further on, only to the change to the stronger stuff that should knock out a variety of large savannah wildlife.

It was a pessimistic mindset that he tried to deny, but perhaps he hoped in the end it would flood his system enough and free him from everything else.

From the pain and that horrid, sterilized smell that followed. Even when not present in the room, it seemed to accompany his trauma. It flooded his nostrils as his fuzzy vision slow cleared. His head still thudded, but his sight was returning-

And the smell was replaced.

Slowly overcome by a sweet scent, something completely heavenly to what he was used to. A woman's perfume.

He wasn't there any longer. He'd gotten out, a month prior according to the drug application, but he was out. He was sure it was a dream, and he would wake back up in the cold rooms, body racked with pain like every week before.

"... Hey, Claire."

"Welcome back to the world of the living, Steve." He could make out her smile, though his vision swirled with red. His lips twitched, sleepily returning her expression before seeming to shut down.

"What's going on? What is that?!" Steve flinched, drawing his arm back as he felt cold steel against his wrist. His panic flared and felt his heart begin to race.

Claire grabbed his elbow and held it down as best she could, shushing him loudly as he babbled. "Steve, calm down." Her voice was stern but warm, as if she were consoling a scared child. He looked her in the eyes, panic-stricken.

"Please, please don't do this, please just let go, I'll leave if it's what you want." He whimpered, trying in vain to move his arm- It was as if his confidence had been entirely washed away.

A stronger hand pushed down on his shoulder.

"Claire, if he keeps squirming, I'm going to end up taking one of his fingers off – or more." Chris sighed, a little taken aback by the response of the wayward boy. The observation didn't do anything to help the situation, Steve crying out and kicking his legs as Claire continued to try and hold his arm still with Chris' aid.

Despite the lad bucking like a shot bull, she managed to place her free hand on his cheek, humming to sooth him. "Steve, I'm not chasing you away. I promise we're helping you. You need to stay still, or you'll get hurt..." Claire explained as calmly as she could, Steve gradually struggling a little less, although still visibly frightened. "And I don't want you to hurt anymore, okay? You've been through enough, and I'm going to make sure you'll be alright."

He felt a soft pet on his head as Evans came up beside the sofa, trying to help his Aunt. "It's okay Mr. Steve, Aunty Claire's nice, even when I get hurt she makes it better." the little boy stated, nodding enthusiastically.

Steve paused, shifting his gaze to his arm. "Yeah, she's good at that..." They'd managed to slip the blade of garden shears between his skin and the steel of the plated cuff on his wrist. He'd had it there only after a few weeks of being at the labs, not knowing one way or the other how they got it on in the first place. He knew what it was for, though - the time release tranquilizers.

The Virus made him stronger, and he lashed out for his freedom with more fury. There was only so much employees would take before they demanded their safety be in check – they all agreed the line was crossed when the teenager had bitten one of the attendants arm deeply enough that several stitches were required. Granted, they had simply chosen to shoot the man. It was more efficient and less concern about any viral transmissions. They were not scheduled to start studying that until the following year.

Placing the man in a practically catatonic state before physicals and experimentation was voted to be the best route to take. Afterwards, slowly introducing the addition of ongoing doses of the anesthesia seemed like the next best follow-up step. Supposedly to keep him calm, but it wasn't exactly anxiety that was otherwise flooding his senses.

It was a cheap trick, however they didn't account that his body would become more tolerant to the substance at a pretty fast rate.

The cuff looked entirely out of business, now. It looked like they had been chiseling at it while he had been out of it, and this was the last ditch effort.

He grimaced. Not so much now because of the fear or the bracelet itself, but...

"When did you take off my bandages?" He asked, almost sounding defeated, "I didn't want you to see this, Claire."

He lightly stretched his scale-covered fingers. The green that replaced his regular skin colour on that arm made him angry. The hand was larger now, clawed and genuinely thick skinned - similar to how it had been on that damn island, just before... What he thought had been death. He hoped the same thought hadn't passed through Claire's mind when she saw.

It wasn't fear of others that caused him to cover it so heavily, it was his sheer hatred for that aspect of his body. The fact it seeped across his body, intruding across his chest and up his neck - making his face...

"I like your eyes, Steve." Claire said softly, brushing a finger along his cheek, below his left eye. She took a moment to marvel at the red iris that contrasted the light blue of the other. He opened his mouth to respond, but she cut him off. "I like them because they're yours, okay? The same with the rest of you."

He paused for a moment, trying to calm himself once more before speaking. "… Then what did you do with my shirt?"

"Heyy, a girl's gotta have some fun too, right?" Claire smirked.

"I am literally sitting right here. With some big ass hedge clippers." Chris warned, "More than ready to desex any other men in this house."

"Heeyy settle down, I'm totally innocent for a change." Steve pointed out, immediately moving his free hand to guard his privates. "I'm fairly attached to these and I want to keep it this way! Don't even joke about that."

"I assure you kid, I'm not joking."

"Chris! Stay on track, will you! Do the whole Alpha thing later, or I'm telling your wife." Claire threatened. "And you know that _I'm_ not joking!"

"Okay, can we just... Get the shackle off while I'm still composed?" Steve grumbled, not entirely sure of how to feel. He tensed and prepared himself, closing his eyes.

"Alright, off with the first appendage!" Chris announced, slamming the shears handles closed.

While the shackle's cracking echoed through the house, the metal bracelet itself did not budge from Steve's arm. Steve winced along with the dismantling and Claire moved to inspect the damage done. She eyed the contraption, placing a finger over the warmed metal.

It still appeared firmly attached, and it frustrated her. If Steve had still been unconscious it would be one thing, but it was clearly going to be taking a toll on him.

Chris sat roughly down on the opposing couch, watching closely with not an ounce of his distrust dismissed. Despite the virus connections and possible links with that bastard Wesker, he felt as if his main threat was the simple fact that this was a male with some clear interest in his little sister. Big brother habits died hard.

Claire grimaced, shifting to sit on the edge of the couch and inspect the bracelet. She pinched the sides of the metal and lifted gentle.

Immediately Steve shrieked, almost deafening in volume, taking Claire aback and causing her to lose her hold. He made a grab for his arm and whimpered. He paused and caught Claire's gaze. "I'm sorry Claire, it hurts real bad."

She sighed deeply and brushed some hair from Steve's eyes. "It's alright. It looks like it's been there a long time. I'm honestly expecting it to be infected." She looked back at the metal. The sides had dug roughly into his skin over time – Claire was now one hundred percent positive that it had been attached before the mutations started taking place, and had not been adjusted to account for the extra width of his wrist as time went on. It didn't surprise her that the movement of his hand seemed limited with that sort of constriction.

"You know I have to do it." She stated sternly, and Steve bit his lip. He knew she was right, but he didn't want the flash of pain to return. Claire looked over her shoulder, seeing Evans kicking his feet lightly against the sofa, playing with his fingers. "Evans, sugar."

The child immediately looked up, beaming at the hope of being useful. "What is it Aunty?"

"Can you go grab me a pair of socks from my drawer?" She quizzed, pausing a moment, "A clean pair."

Evans looked back confused, but nodded his head regardless. He got up and ran off down the hall as his aunt moved her attention to her brother. "Chris..."

"I don't want to help with this." He stated gruffly. "And I don't want you making my boy assist, either. Claire, you know better than all of this-"

"I'll shoot him myself if something happens." Claire stated firmly, patting the .45 in her holster. "I'm not about to put Evans in danger, but please, Chris... Get my other first-aid kit. The large one, in the cabinet."

"Still here." Steve reminded them.

Chris hesitated. His mind was active with reasons as to why this was a bad idea, but at the same time, his little sister seemed so entirely sure of the situation. He had not met Steve during the Rockford Island incident, for the most part at least, however...

_Aunty just looks so sad._

Evans words voiced themselves in his mind. Reluctantly, he sighed and mentally agreed. He rose from his roost, trudging off to the bathroom. It was annoying that as the more he thought about it, the more he begrudgingly understood his younger sisters convictions. He'd chased and hoped endlessly for Jill, and even with all the atrocities caused because of the blonde bastard-

It sort of hit him all at once as he looked into the cabinet mirror.

Jill hadn't done anything by her own choice. Nothing malicious had been her doing. What was to say this boy was no different, and not just simply another victim like Jill had been. In the small slips about Steve that would escape from Claire in conversations, it seemed a tad more tragic. He was just a kid, essentially, thrown into this mess like everyone else.

He sighed, "I hate it when she's right..." he muttered under his breath. Upon walking back to the lounge, he was met with Claire stuffing the clean socks into Steve's mouth, clearly to the boys dismay.

"Shh! It's going to hurt and if you wail like a banshee again, someone will call the cops." She explained, receiving a grunt from Steve in response. "… Nice pearly white by the way, looks like you could take a bite out of a submarine."

"That statement doesn't fill me with confidence." Chris knelt beside the couch, opening up the kit as his son hid behind his back, peeking from the side to watch. "What do you think you're going to need?"

"I'm not sure until I get in there, but I imagine similar to before. I'm definitely going to need a lot of saline, and the gauze. Lots of gauze, it looks deep." Claire sighed, shaking her head. "Steve, sit on your other hand so you don't suddenly flail out at me. Chris, uh, sit on Steve's legs please."

"SIT, NOW. That means both of you."

Both men followed the instructions with their continued reluctance. Claire herself sat haphazardly on Steve's lap, resting his talon on her own lap. "I'm going to take it off on the count of five, alright?" Steve nodded, and closed his eyes. "Ready? Okay, one, two... Five."

With all her might Claire yanked the bracelet from him. She felt him jolt, stiffen, then go limp. She panicked for a moment, grabbing his shoulder, "Steve!" He wheezed in return, then silent... He'd totally passed out again.

"He seems to have a bad habit of passing out stone cold, doesn't he?" Chris commented.

Claire blinked, surprised. Had it just been the initial shock or-

She looked at the shackle in her other hand and felt her heart drop. No, he'd passed out from pain. The blood was oozing from the wounds thickly.

It was more than just the sides that had been digging into his wrist. The inner workings of the shackle was constructed with deep cutting spikes - which explained why they had such difficulty fitting the blade underneath it - seemingly having become partially infused with his flesh. How she'd managed to get it was beyond her, and how Steve apparently didn't know about it was even further over the mountains.

Among the drippings of red and flakes of green that clung, a blue liquid slowly drizzled from the contraption; it caught Claire off guard, not entirely sure of its purpose. Whatever it was, she had a feeling it was responsible for Steve's groggy status earlier. The catheter for the substance had broken in his arm, seemingly aiding in Steve's blood loss.

The panic rose in her chest again - she hadn't looked at the situation closely enough, and the blood frankly scared her. Not shying from blood generally, but his blood and his already battered condition...

"I'm so sorry baby..." She whispered, throat tightening. She quickly picked up her tone, "Chris, give me that Saline please, and a pack of that gauze, and... And the mosquito forceps, then go get me a towel. I may need a tourniquet after this. ... Chris?"

"One moment," Chris sighed, easing his son onto the couch, who seemed to have also passed out as well. "Evans doesn't have a good stomach for these sorts of things." As his sister quickly whispered an apology, Chris swiftly handed over the items, before getting up to retrieve the rest. "I'm starting to think we should have called Rebecca in."

Claire's shoulder slouched as she heard this, slowly getting to work trying to remove the broken equipment. "That would have been such a good idea. Ugggh, I've never felt so stupid. I'm so sorry Steve. You're going to be sore when you wake up."

Once more, the doorbell rang out.


	3. Yellow House

This chapter contains some pretty direct references to Aunty Claire. Primarily bathtime being the worst thing ever. And surprise Take-away food.

I'm not really sure how I'm setting my chapters up (That's bad...)  
But I do have planned out material (That's good!)  
But it's really making fleshing out the chapters difficult (That's bad...)  
But I do have an end planned! (That's good!)  
The planning contains potassium benzoate (...?)

Fortuzula - Thank you! Fingers crossed he gets good luck back in ten-fold, right? Hehe~  
InuSBfan87 - I'm glad to hear! Sorry for taking so long in that case, please no crying :o!  
Ferfer94 - Fantastic, I'll keep doing my best :D

Enjoy!

* * *

_Ding!_

"Door's open, let yourself in!" Claire called, "Kinda have our hands full!"

The door creaked and slammed shut behind Jill as she entered. Both slightly bemused by being dragged down, partially annoyed. She was expecting Evans to have been caught in the crawlspace again, or something similar.

She paused at the Lounge's doorway. Husband, Check. Sister-in-law, Check. Son… Passed out. Mystery man, also passed out.

"... If you're all trying to make me go into labour faster, it's working. What the hell is going on?" Jill sighed. Walking in – although more a waddle, Claire noticed – she glanced at both of the sofas.

"… C'mon, don't make me stand this entire time." She sighed.

"You know I would but, ah…" Claire began, before pointing to Steve who she practically used as the sofa itself. "Unfortunately I've got more ER Drama to conduct on my little guinea pig."

"You should have called Rebecca in." Jill pointed out.

"God, I know! I screwed up!"

Jill turned her attention to Chris and Evans. Her son was still quite small and only took up a small amount of the couch. "Chris…"

Chris patted his legs. "You could just sit on my lap." He offered.

"Honey, I'm already pregnant."

Claire threw her arms up, "Stop, now! Please! Do not need!"

Chris got up from his seat, seemingly pleased with the team effort of taunting his kid sister. He sat on the arm of the sofa while his wife took his spot. "Alright," Jill began, "I know one of the passed out duo, not the other. Someone please start explaining."

"Well… This is Steve. Steve - whenever you wake up-, meet Jill. Jill, meet unconscious Steve." Claire began to explain. "In all honesty, I don't know too much about what's going on."

"You can start with why both he and my son are in dreamland. Was it a terrible cooking experiment, perhaps?" Jill asked. Claire was just about to defend her cooking ability when Jill decided to cut the charade. "Okay, honey, I can't keep up a joking attitude right now…"

Claire tensed as she tried to prepare herself for what was coming next. "I'm sure Chris already pointed out that your friend there," Jill began, as Claire's gaze dropped to the floor, "Doesn't appear too friendly."

"He's fine…" Claire said softly, moving her hand to Steve's arm. "It's just a little something we need to fix. I was hoping to get some help with it, actually."

"I don't think there's a good chance he can actually be-" Claire quickly cut off her sister-in-laws persuasion.

"You weren't! What makes him so different?!" She snapped.

Jill leaned back, surprised by Claire's outburst. Claire breathed in and counted in her head while everyone else stayed silent. "I'm sorry. Just… Please, don't start this, Jill. I was hoping you of all people would understand why I CAN'T just leave him!"

Jill paused, and the silence once more picked up while she thought. She gave a slow nod, "No, I suppose I should apologize. I'm just worried that your good nature will wind up getting you hurt." She shook her head, "It's not against you or your friend. I just want to look out for my family, and you're a part of that."

Claire sighed, raising her hand in acceptance. "I understand. I understand, but I don't like it."

"Claire, I'm not going to handle this with kid gloves on, but I'll try and understand. So, exactly what is going on?"

"All I really know is he escaped from where ever that bastard had him. Judging by how he is now, he's been though a lot." Claire tried to explain.

"Somehow I feel there's more to the story." Chris butted in.

"No shit, I'm sure there is, but he hasn't finished telling me it." Claire explained, "The whole 'not being awake' thing? It doesn't help the situation unless he begins sleep talking."

"That's if anything he's said is the truth to begin with."

"So, how was the drive over, Jill?" Claire asked, backtracking the conversation.

"Considering how long it took me, it should be some hint." Jill sighed, crossing her arms. "Traffic was terrible. Wanted to shoot someone's tires out, but I realised that would just make the whole journey longer."

"Excuse me, Claire—"

"So the freeway was a no-go?"

"I wouldn't trust myself with road rage at the moment." Jill said, waving her hand in dismissal.

"Claire, Are you ignoring me?"

Claire noticed her nephew stir from his napping spot. "Morning Evans! Can I asked a favour, sugar?"

"Yes Aunty…?" Evans rubbed his eyes, before wearily sitting up and leaning against his mothers' side.

"Can you tell your Dad about today so he shushes his stupid mouth?" Claire asked sweetly.

"Well... Today Aunty Claire said you had a stupid mouth."

"I know, I was here for that." Chris chuckled, leaning over to ruffle his sons' hair. "Now, Claire, you're aware I have backup here, right?"

"I see your Jill and raise you my own personal determination. Give up." Claire snipped back. "I was having a lovely conversation with your wife, how rude, Chris."

Chris paused for a moment, then seemed to relent - to some degree, at least. "Then I guess we have no choice," Chris sighed. "There's no getting around it when you're this pigheaded about something. We'll be staying tonight."

"You can't do that." Claire said, raising a brow. "You need to go home."

"Why is that?" Chris asked, very clearly challenging the statement. "Your place's spacey, it's child friendly for Evans…"

Claire looked down to the carpet, and then moved her concentration to Jill. "I really don't want your wife's water breaking on my floor."

"I feel so loved." Jill stated bluntly, staring rather blankly back at Claire.

"Wait, so…" Evans sat up properly, his eyes lighting up. "Sleepover at Aunty Claire's!"

"Look what you've done - now I can't say no!" Claire cried, "I don't have enough sofas to accommodate pregnant women! And I have no pickles in the fridge!"

"That's such a stereotype… You and Chris, I swear." Jill shot her husband a quickly glare, who mumbled something about pickles seeming logical.

"You're not backing out of this, are you?" Claire questioned, but immediately knew the answer. "Alright, you have my bed tonight then."

"That sounds fair. Thank you, Claire." Jill replied warmly, seeming surprisingly relieved. "At least I'll sleep well tonight."

"What in the world does that mean? I don't even know if Claire's bed is big enough for both of us." Chris chimed back in.

"No, Chris you get a couch." Claire stated with a nod.

"What?"

"There will be NO hanky-panky in my bed. One, gross, two, I just washed those sheets. So Jill-" Claire began while Jill beat her to the punch.

"No going into labour, understood. I'll have Evans with me, so don't worry about him." She gave a thumbs up as she explained.

"Alright, that's good!" Claire clapped her hands lightly – thank heavens for small victories. "Chris, you get a couch, Steve gets a couch, everyone gets a couch!"

"What about you, Claire? You're out of couches." Chris pointed out.

Claire thought this over for a moment. She took a quick glance around her lounge – if the men had the couches, she couldn't exactly steal their cushions and make the fort she had priorly mentioned. She'd also learnt the hard way with Evans that the fridge, even when knocked over, was not a very comfortable spot… That had been quite an odd day.

"I think it's best that the floor and I spend some intimate time together." Claire tapped the carpet with her foot. She once more paused, her eyes wondering to the door leading to her room.

"Uh, Claire?" Chris clicked his fingers, trying to snap Claire out of whatever trance it was she had stumbled into. She mumbled and audible 'oh', having not realised her conversation had derailed – although, she wasn't sure where else it could go post carpet romance. … That sounded like terrible wording in her head.

"Chris, I want you to be aware of something."

"Snakes living in the couch?" Chris asked, not realising sleeping arrangements were done and dusted.

"No, I got that sorted out. The Boa and I are bros now. I mean Steve—" Claire began.

"What about him?"

"When he wakes up, I am going to cuddle him." Claire stated firmly.

"No. You're not." Blunt as ever.

"I'm going to cuddle him all day long and there's nothing you can do about it."

"No. You're not."

"I'll get Evans to have hugs too so it's a family hug." Claire nodded confidently.

"No. You're not, Claire."

"I'm going to get Steve to sleep in my bed after you all leave, too! It's going to be snuggly and comfy!"

"**No, you're not!**" Chris shouted. As tough as he was now it was beyond clear that he was panicking about the statement, true or not – it took everything Jill had not to start laughing.

"Wanna know what else?" Claire smirked, seeming a tad evil with her expression of this. "And we're going to have a thousand babies - Exactly a thousand."

"Why does that sound familiar?" Jill asked, her mind wondering away slightly from the actual issue at hand.

"**No babies!** Absolutely **No Babies!**" Chris cried, looking at his wife desperately, "Jill! Help me here!"

"Mummy, Claire knows where the baby store is?" Evans quizzed, only to be hushed by his mother.

Jill carried on not acknowledging Chris' pleading. "Could you even hold that many babies…?"

"You'd need a unicorn…" A voice pepped up, with some effort from his part.

"Oh, welcome back again, Steve!" Claire greeted happily, completely blowing off Chris' dismay.

The boy wearily pushed himself upright, trying to steady himself after resting his right arm over the top of the sofa. He sighed deeply, before glancing at the occupants. "There are more people in here than I remember…"

"Only Jill, really. Although, she may count as two people right now." Claire explained, considering giving the idea some more thought.

Steve brought his arm back down, but felt the loss of the balance it caused. He haphazardly placed his claw on the sofa's leather, tips of his nails clipping into the material. The pain from his wrist shot up his arm, and he clenched his jaw in response. He blinked slowly and tried to let his body settle.

"Are you alright?" Claire asked, placing a hand on Steve's shoulder.

"Fuck it." Steve mumbled, before slumping down across Claire's lap with a disgruntled grunt. Claire gave him a quick pat on the head after he decided to flop down. "And what the hell was that about the floor taking my girl?"

"Ooo you're confident aren't you?" Claire smirked, hearing a crack and immediately turning to her brother. "Chris, stop looking like the embodiment of murder."

Chris had cracked one of his knuckles, glaring at the male of the supposed couple. "I will punch you like a boulder." He threatened, quite truthfully it would seem.

"Why exactly do you people hate boulders so much?"

"That's a totally different story," Claire stated, scratching Steve behind his ear and earning a pleased whine. "Now, you didn't answer me. You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. … Okay, I'm somewhere in the middle." He admitted, rolling onto his back with his head still resting on her lap. "But I'm happy on your thighs. I'd rather be between them, but on will do."

"I'm going to massacre him. Claire, give him here." Chris barked, jumping off of his seat.

"Nooo touchy!" Claire protectively placed her arms over Steve's chest.

"Give me a break man," He waved a hand dismissively - Steve was honestly in too much pain to be intimidated, "I don't even have my V card revoked!"

"What?" Claire asked, moving back her arms and seeming particularly interested. "Seriously? Ahh, that's adorable!"

"I heard 'Adorkable' awhile ago," Jill mused, "Your friend's reptile-ness aside—"

"Steve's a Dinosaur, mummy." Evans butted in.

"Is he? Sorry, Steve. Dinosaur-ness aside, somehow that term seems to be fitting."

"I… Think I'm offended. By a lot of things said just now." Steve was slightly taken aback, and more than a little confused. "This has backfired so fast…"

"You're taking this whole thing lightly all of a sudden…" Chris stated, glancing over his shoulder to Jill.

"I appreciate the fact that he's only just woken up and still managing to give you shit." Jill smirked, tugging on Chris' jacket to loosely hold him back. "Babe, go make me some tea."

Chris turned on his heels, "But—"

"Chris, the baby wants tea. Now."

"Alright…" he relenting, sulking off to the kitchen.

"Thanks, Jill." Claire smiled, only after checking Chris was out of earshot – although not eyeshot.

"I wouldn't thank me just yet. I have some interrogation business of my own I'd like to go through." Jill explained, concerning Claire a fair bit. "First off… You seem quite calm, Steven."

"Just Steve is fine. 'Steven' reminds me of my dad." He sighed, shaking his head lightly.

"Stop that, your hair tickles me when you do that." Claire scolded, flicking Steve's nose. The young man whined before Jill carried on.

"Mhm. I'm sorry if I'm incorrect, but given what I know about biohazards, I don't feel like that placidness is going to stick around for too long." Jill stated. "I'm sure you're seeing what I'm hinting at – If you ever had the audacity to hurt Claire-"

"If that's what you're worried about, I'll give up meat - I'll eat nothing but soy." Steve grunted, quickly becoming annoyed. The fact that both Jill and Chris seemed to think that it was even remotely possible for Steve to lay a claw- Arg, a finger, on Claire, made his chest tight with anger.

"I think that would be more likely to _drive you to murder_." Claire pointed out.

"Claire, could you open his mouth for me?"

"What—" Steve didn't have any time to reply as Claire quickly complied, pulling the side of Steve's cheek to show off some of his teeth.

Jill grimaced. Sure enough, Steve's set of teeth more resembled… Something other than a human's regular set – both Maxillary and Mandibular. Past the canines – which were intimidating to begin with – the remaining teeth in view looked more, quite frankly, like piranha teeth. Lord knew the structure of his molars.

The man in her gaze growled lowly, his tongue flicking past his slightly parted teeth for a split second like an angered dog. What took her aback was the fact that it appeared to be blue – and that Claire seemed to have entirely missed seeing the abnormality.

"You can't teach a lion to eat tofu." Jill sighed, shaking her head.

Steve gentle pushed Claire's hand away. "Not all lions are man-eaters, either." He snapped, his displeasure quite clear. He rolled over onto his side, facing Claire. As far as he was concerned he was done with this conversation.

Claire looked pleadingly at Jill. She simply returned the young womans gaze, unflinching. 'Please just drop it' Claire mouthed, not wanting Steve to hear. Jill sighed, nodding. She didn't like the idea of Claire getting hurt for having a big heart, but the idea of putting her own family in danger…

She just hoped her sister-in-law was right. She _was _good at reading people… But she was also far too trusting for her own good.

A moment of silence passed before Chris ventured back in, carrying a tea in one hand and a coffee for himself in the other. There was an uncomfortable tension in the room he couldn't place. Even Evans gave an aura of concern. He passed the decorated teacup to Jill and sat down beside her and Evans.

"What did I mi—" He began, but was quickly cut off by his little sister.

"Bath time." She stated, her voice halfhearted as she nudged Steve to get off of her. The young man smirked.

"Can I watch?"

"The bath is for you, idiot."

You would have been able to hear a pin drop.

"You're kidding." The statement escaped from both the men at the same time.

"Oooo, Mr. Steve, that's gonna suck." Evans commented, his mother flicking his ear as she scolded him for his language.

"You're covered in blood, in case you haven't noticed." Claire pointed out. Steve pushed up himself up slightly with one hand as he surveyed himself. Sure enough she was right, and he would most certainly need a change of clothes. He had priorly noted the continuing pain in his injured wrist, but not so much the blood that seeped past the temporary bandage Claire had applied.

"Frankly," Claire continued, "I'd like to get that cleaned properly, as well as check out any wounds I missed during our rushed checkup."

"I don't think I'd trust myself alone in a bathtub at the moment." Steve frowned.

"I had no intention of letting you do that yourself." Claire stated, growing confident quite quickly. She pushed him to his feet, grabbing him by the belt and dragging him off towards the bathroom.

"I did not give my consent to this!" Chris screamed after them, only to be waved off by Claire.

* * *

"Why didn't I take up knitting?" Chris mumbled. He was pinching his knuckles, trying to pass the time. Both he and Jill cringed each time a scream rang out from the bathroom, which Evans happily kept count of and announced with each new shriek.

"Two five!" Evans cheered.

"That's Twenty-five, sport." Chris corrected, going back to his knuckles. "I'm starting to think she's actually killing him for me. That would be nice."

"She might if he doesn't keep still." Jill responded, taking a sip of her second cup of tea. "I'm impressed by how much pain she can inflict within ten minutes."

_Ding!_

"… Do we have any other family members I've forgotten about?" Jill asked.

"Not that I know of." Chris shrugged. Evans jumped from his seat and sprinted to the door.

"Evans! Jeez, every time the doorbell rings…" Jill sighed.

"At least it's not just us he keeps doing it to. Better go check." Chris followed after his son, too tired to bother telling him off for the same offence he had lost count over. If it was someone questionable he could just shoot them. Alright, maybe not, but the option was there.

He rounded the door frame just to hear his son greeting 'Mrs. Muriel', the apparent concerned-looking guest. Middle-Aged, perhaps, showing signs of graying and the presence of crows feet. Of course, that could have to do with the stress of being one of Claire's neighbours.

"… Mrs. Johnson, Evans." Muriel, uh… I'm sorry, Mrs. Johnson corrected the child. "Call me by my last name sweetie, it's more respectful."

Evans looked at his father behind him. "… Daddy, what am I meant to call Mr. Steve then?"

"Don't you dare, Chris!" Jill called from the sofa.

"It's alright; I'm too busy trying not to laugh right now." Chris was trying to stifle a laugh, and had to talk through clenched teeth. "… Please come in, Mrs…"

"Johnson." Mrs. Johnson stepped in. Chris simply turned around and swiftly wondered to the laundry room, slamming the door behind him. Mrs. Johnson had followed him with her eyes before Chris turned the corner.

"Please come in, Mrs. Johnson!" Evans mimicked, although thankfully without his father's immaturity, before running back to his mother.

"Oh, uhm, thank you dear." Mrs. Johnson showed herself in, closing the door behind her quietly. She'd had yet to actually come into her neighbours house, honestly having been taking aback by the last supposed bath incident.

She followed after the little boy, admiring the houses interior as she strolled to the lounge where Evans and his mother were waiting. She gave a slow nod in greeting to Jill, contemplating sitting down. However, the room looked... A little worse for wear, particularly around the vacant sofa, as if someone had been bleeding on it.

"I do apologize , I can by to check that—" Mrs. Johnson began, but halted with the sound of Steve screaming from the bathroom. "… Everything was alright. I don't believe we've met before."

"Jill Redfield. Evans is my son, and you've met my husband." Jill greeted, extending her hand. Mrs. Johnson shook her hand without too much concern – Somehow a pregnant woman didn't seem like too much of a threat. It was as she did that she noticed a muted banging sound, as if something were hitting the wall from further away.

"Pardon me but what in the **world** is that sound?" Mrs. Johnson asked, trying to briefly let the screaming slip her mind. Perhaps she had imagined it.

"More than likely my husband slamming his head against the door, please just ignore him." Jill smiled sweetly, taking another sip of her tea. In her mind she was rolling her eyes, she was sure of it.

Mrs. Johnson seemed about ready to dismiss the issue when the bellowing once more began, although the banter was quite audible this time around.

"Unhand me, woman!"

"Hold still!"

Mrs. Johnson paused for a second before speaking up once again. "Pardon me, Mrs. Redfield..."

"Jill is fine."

"If you're sure that's fine… Ahem, Jill, exactly what's going on in this house?"

Jill surveyed her tea situation. Only a few more sips left – she'd have to drag Chris out soon to make a third. "Bath time." She answered matter-of-factly.

"I was unaware Claire had- No, that… Doesn't sound like a child?"

Jill shrugged. "I'd love to say otherwise but with my timing-"

"Assault! **Assault** I say! Why is nobody **Helping me?!"**

The bathroom door slammed open as Claire walked out of the bathroom, using one of the spare towels she had taken out with her to pat dry the mixture of excess water and blood that was on her face. Clearly Steve was quite the bleeder, as despite the bathwater, there was still blood on her arms.

"I think I may need your help, I have him properly restrained but-" It was only half way through the statement that she noticed Mrs. Johnson standing in the living room. "Oh, hello Muriel… Would you believe this is all related to a horrible red food dye accident?"s

"I'm still bleeding in here!"

"Stop being such a baby!" Claire snapped back through the door, before turning back to Ms. Johnson with a smile. "By bleeding he means there's a leak with the-"

"Claire! There's more blood than water in here! I require **medical assistance**!"

Claire didn't bother finishing her statement. She hummed softly, and started wiping the blood from her arms. Jill wished she had some popcorn to munch on, or possibly some chocolate coated chips... Or Pineapples with mustar- Oh, the cravings were distracting her.

"You're welcome to stay for some tea, Muriel." Claire said sweetly, shaking the towel in her hands. "I can give you a bath next."

"Thank you for the offer but I must be taking my leave!" Had this been a cartoon Mrs. Johnson would have certainly left a dust cloud behind, the door slamming loudly with her departure.

"If she breaks my door, I **will** give her a bath next!" Claire growled.

"That is the oddest threat I've heard in awhile." Jill commented. "Chris! She's left, you can stop laughing and come back out now!"

The sound of fumbling and just generally tripping over things echoed from the Laundry room as the door finally opened and Chris stumbled out. He seemed to have recovered for the most part, although did let slip a school-girl like giggle as he walked over to the girls.

"Thank god for that," He breathed a sigh of relief, then his mind registered Steve's prior shouts. "Have you killed that friend of yours yet? That woman sounded pretty confident you were committing murder."

"Yeah that's Muriel, she calls the cops over a lot of things. The officers and I go out for coffee every Tuesday now." Claire tossed the towel to the side and dusted her hands. "Sorry Chris, my sweetheart has a good half an ounce of blood in him"

"… Should I call Rebecca? I'll call Rebecca." Jill pulled her mobile from her pocket as Claire raised her hand.

"I'm kidding! He's fine! You don't have to bother Rebecca. I think she might just throw in the towel after taking a glance at Steve." Claire regretting throwing the towel, the literal of course – she could have used it as a pretty good projectile to knock Jill's mobile away.

"Too late, already remembered her speed-dial." Jill sang, placing a finger over her lip to shush the remaining Redfields.

"When you're done call some take-away, then, I need to go fix up Steve before he drowns!" Claire called as she retreated back to the bathroom. As before, she securely locked the door behind her, although it was nowhere near brother-proof. Evans had gasped in the mean time, utterly shocked that he Claire had buckled on her regular 'no take-out' rule. How unfair!

Steve had sunk down as deeply as he could without his head going on. He'd pouted, glaring at Claire when she entered. Claire sighed and rolled her eyes, walking back over to the tub. She went to give him a pat on the head when Steve raised his arm.

"Don't push me awHOA!" Before she could even finish the thought, Claire found herself dragged into the bath along with Steve. "What the hell?!"

Steve grinned, wrapping his arms around Claire and hugging her tightly. She squirmed, the wet fabric feeling terrible. "I thought we could save water together." He purred.

She tried to kick her legs out as best she could, all while Steve was laughing at her hopeless flailing about.

"I need more toooowels!" She called, managing to slip out of his grasp and clinging to the side of the bath. "You're so mean, Steve!"

"Hey, I'm just getting you back. You were the one practically cleaning out my cuts with steel wool..."

"Those were more than just cuts! And you're over reacting!" She huffed.

There was a loud banging from the other side of the door, as well as shaking of the door handle.

"What are you doing in there?!" Chris called, heavily contemplating kicking down the wooden barrier.

"Steve and I are making babies!" Claire called back teasingly. The pounding on the door stopped for a moment, only to recommence even harder.

"Dammit Claire! **No babies!**"

* * *

Chris had been forced back onto the sofa, complaining constantly despite Jill's assurance that his little sister was just pulling his chain on the whole ordeal. There was a bit more ruckus from the bathroom every now and then, although not too many screams of retaliation – and this was one of the main things that concerned Chris.

Thankfully, it was only a short passing of time until the bathroom doors finally opened, Claire roughly pushing Steve out. She was still dressed in her drenched clothes, but Steve had since dried off (for the most part, his hair still had flicks of moisture caught in the strands), and slipped into other clothes – with some difficulty.

They were roomy, perhaps a bit too roomy – Some clothes she'd stolen from her brother on prior visits. While they fit Chris' frame perfectly, Steve's stature was considerably less masculine, for lack of a better word. Claire had to pull the strings on the sweatpants quite tightly to keep them up. Thankfully, the height difference wasn't too large, and the pants legs were easy enough to roll up.

Claire had been quite adamant that Steve wear a shirt, and just like the pants the white top was also considerably loose. It seemed to stay above his shoulders, however, which he was thankful for. Although, this did seem to be mostly due to the small spikes on his shoulders catching the fabric. Claire contemplated just cutting through the fabric to give the additions some space, but wasn't entirely sure if Chris was wanting that specific shirt back or not. Truthfully, he'd probably burn it considering Steve was wearing it now...

"Well, you look like you're set for a day of relaxing." Claire said, patting Steve's back and leaving a wet handprint on the fabric.

"Babe, this is really pretty uncomfortable for me." He stated quietly, expecting to somehow offend Chris if he heard.

"Well you can't fit into my clothes." Claire shrugged, "And I'd _love_ to see you get squeezed into Evans outfits." While he saw her point, it didn't make him feel much better.

"Well there's one thing I can say with confidence."

"And what's that?" Claire quizzed curiously, standing on the tip of her toes to look him in the eyes.

"You still have a nice arse." He smiled. Claire poked her tongue out at him.

"Hey, thanks. Got a good feel in that tub, hm?" She paused, looking over her shoulder. "Chris, put down the knife."

"I will do no such thing!"

Claire shook her head before taking hold of Steve's hand, beginning to lead him elsewhere.

"Wait, where the hell are you two going now?" Chris called. Claire paused, running a hand over her jeans and shaking the excess water from her hand.

"Well in case you hadn't noticed, some asshole decided he wanted to make me waterlogged for the night. I have to get changed." Claire explained, shaking a few more droplets from her fingers. "Steve, you stay outside the door."

"But—"

"No buts. You already got your daily dose of my butt, thank you."

Steve pouted, but it was clear that Claire wasn't going to be relenting. Reluctantly he followed her to the last door in the hallway. She gave him a light pet on the head, which felt more teasing than anything, and wondered inside to get undressed.

Steve cautiously took a hold of the doorknob, only to hear stern a 'Tsst!' from each Redfield in the house. Evans included – he didn't feel like being left out.

She sighed, slumping with his back against the door and crossing his arms over his knees. Although it gave his chance a mind to wonder - If he had a tail, there was no doubt he would be wagging it.

_Ding!_

"Food!" Evans immediately jumped to his feet, ready to run to the door once more before Chris grabbed him by the scruff his jacket.

"Settle down, Tiger." Chris chuckled, handing the boy to his mother.

By the time Claire had finished drying off and getting changed, the food officially in the house and sitting on the kitchen bench, ready to be sorted out.

"I don't know why you had to get stuff ordered in..." Chris called, glancing inside of the plastic carry bags.

"I haven't been shopping, the only thing I have left in the house is coffee, tea, tomatoes and crumpets..." Claire explained, fiddling with a hairtie as she tried to figure out her hair situation. Her fingers were too slippery to get anything really sorted out.

"I would have been down for that." Jill commented, as Steve took the hairtie from Claire and set up her ponytail as best as he could.

Claire spun on her heel and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before leading him to the dining table. It was placed a bit oddly, off in an unoccupied region of the lounge room - yet still managing to supply enough area for chairs and leg-space. She didn't have many people over other than family – occasionally Leon when he scored a day off in the area and had time for a beer. Venting about work was always a bonus.

"You'd eat crumpets for every meal if you could!" Claire pointed out, pulling out her own seat at the table as Steve took the one beside her. The table seemed like it would be able to fit everyone. Hopefully.

"Hey, the baby likes them and so do I, so it's win-win!" Jill countered.

When Chris looked over, everyone was seated but him.

"Shouldn't you be the one dishing out the food?" He quizzed, furrowing his brow.

"Do you honestly think I'm going to leave you alone with Steve?" Claire asked seriously. "I can't trust Jill to play referee, she'd sit down with popcorn and watch!"

"Ahh, how you know me." Jill gave a thumbs up, as Claire rolled her eyes.

Chris busied himself trying to remember where all of the dishes and utensils were while the rest of the group chattered away.

"Well then, I should try and do a quick Q and A while Chris is only threatening you to a minor degree." Claire chirped up.

Steve paused. "Wait, all of that threatening, that's minor?"

"It's a big brother thing." Jill nodded, quite sure of this fact. "Didn't have a little sister, Steve?"

"Ah, no I…" He felt a bit awkward – for the most part, he'd been trying to get over the loss of his family, but wounds were still rather fresh even after all of this time.

"But little sisters are awesome!" Evans shouted, seeming like the fact Steve was an only child was an insult to Evans himself.

"We're talking about this family, Jill, not Steve's." Claire stated, pacing her words. She was hinting for Jill to stay away from that subject, but it wasn't all that hidden.

"It's fine," Steve said with a forced grin, "I had the feeling I'd die alone, so it's not—"

"You stop that this instance!" Claire squealed, shoving Steve quite hard. The poor bloke nearly fell off his chair. She paused, noticing the muted notes of his reactions. "I know I asked before, but… Are you alright? Other than the obvious, I mean."

"My head still hurts," he sighed, but quickly smiled, "And I'm still mutated, so I guess not entirely."

"Snarky, you want me to have another go pushing you off your perch?" Claire didn't seem to be bluffing, and Steve quickly shook his head in response. "What's really going on?"

He just couldn't really seem to hide much from her. "My arm feels like it's on fire…" He reluctantly admitted, moving his left wrist to her. She'd bandaged it up after the bath escapade, but the pressure and cover seemed to do little for the pain it was causing him.

She pondered for a moment, before getting up from her seat. "Just one moment," She hurried off to the bathroom and hunted through the medicine cabinet. She returned with a convenient glass of water and two small tablets. "Painkillers, pack a real punch." She beamed.

Steve stared at her hand as if she were holding a death adder. He shifting back as far in his chair as possible, and cautiously met Claire's eyes. "I'm gonna pass."

She looked at him confused for a moment, before placing the glass on the table.

"They say you're meant to take it with food, no better time than just before dinner." Claire stated. "C'mon, stop being—"

She'd grabbed his wrist and he immediately pulled away violently. Claire would have toppled over if she hadn't lost her grip on his skin. "No! Dammit, no more drugs!" He barked, trying to sink back further into his chair, "Just, please no more drugs, I can't take it…"

"Babe..." Claire bit her bottom lip before hugging Steve tightly, silent for a moment. "What did they do to you...?"

He honestly felt embarrassed, but was unable to pass up the offer of Claire's warmth. He wrapped his own arms around her and held her close, not muttering a word in fear he may dig himself deeper.

Jill closed her eyes. The situation struck a cord with her, and her memory of her own struggles post-rescue drifted back to her mind. For a moment her heart went out to the boy.

"I'll get some chocolate milk for Mr. Steve." Jill looked over at her son, who haphazardly hopped down from his chair, which was a tad high for him, and ran off to the kitchen.

There was a short discussion between Evans and his father, mostly scolding him for trying to fetch the glasses himself. The little boy happily toddled back into the room, setting the milk next to the glass of water.

"You'll feel better!" Evans stated confidently.

Claire let go of Steve, looking at the little Errand Boy and his delivery. "Oh – He doesn't just give his chocolate milk to anyone, you know."

Steve gave a weak smile in response – he wasn't exactly in the mood for it, but it would be rude to say no after all the effort Evans went through. Besides, the glass was only about half full – probably in hope that Evans wouldn't spill too great a deal if he tripped.

"Thanks for that, remind me to repay the favour." Steve smiled, and Evans beamed in return. He took a large sip of the milk and placed it down, pausing for a moment. "… Ugh."

"What is it?" Claire asked, concerned for a moment.

"It's got a bitter aftertaste." Steve explained, eyeing the glass in front of him.

"My milk is bad…?" Evan asked, sounding practically heartbroken.

"No, not bad ah…" Steve quickly tried to think of something convincing, "Maybe just on its last legs. You should finish all of it tonight or it'll go bad tomorrow."

"You should finish drinking it, or poor Evans wasted his milk." Claire said, and patted his back with each following word. "He. Loves. Milk."

"Why does that sound so bad? But… Don't worry, I got it." Honestly, Steve didn't sound particularly enthralled with the idea. He steeled himself, and chugged the rest of the milk, hoping the rest of the flavour wouldn't linger on his tastebuds.

"Good, you'll grow up big and strong." Claire smirked, leaving another peck on Steve's cheek. He mumbled slightly embarrassed, pushing the glass to the side and moving onto the water. Surely it would help wash that taste away.

Claire grabbed the now empty glass, and motioned to Evans. "Well, we'll sort this out and see what's taking Chris so long in dishing everything out." Claire hummed, gesturing for Evans to follow her to the kitchen. He nodded in response, following after his Aunty.

As soon as she could duck behind the cabinets, she knelt down and looked Evans in the eyes.

"Sugar, how many did you put in there…?" She asked, running a finger around the top of the empty glass. It was clear there was a reason for the aftertaste, since the milk was certainly still fresh.

"Missy Rebecca always said never use more than two without condolting your farmadist. There were two you left on the table so I took those..." Evans explained shyly.

"You did great!" Claire cheered quietly, giving Evans a pat on the back. "Good boy, even with bad pronunciation."

"I don't like you two whispering." Steve called from the lounge. It confused Claire for a moment – there was no way he could have heard her, but she quickly dismissed it.

"But you're smiling. Why do you always smile at me?" She asked, standing up. It caused Steve to pause, but that smile still seemed to be there.

"It just happens, I can't control it." He stated bluntly. "I just feel happy when I see you."

"Aww… You're a bigger suckup than Evans!" She bit her bottom lip, blushing slightly for once.

"Alright, enough of that!" Chris nudged Claire in the back with a bowl he was carrying, and Evans lightly with his foot. "Everyone, sit down and eat – I was waiting for a signal from you guys but milk chugging seems like a safe bet."

"Alright Mr. Bossy." Claire put her hands on her hips, huffing and heading back to the table. Evans had paused, but quickly mimicked his Aunty.

"Bossy!" He practically cheered.

"Way to go, teaching my son bad habits." Chris sighed.

As the others sat down he passed everyone's meals about. Everyone's dishes seemed to differ, although Jill had simply shrugged and ordered a second of Claire's regular serving of Butter Chicken, not entirely sure what the Burnside lad would be up for eating. It was always the safe option to run with.

It was an unceremonious sort of thing, and Steve was the only one who really gave any pause. He just looked at the meal in front of him, honestly seeming in awe for the time that he watched.

Claire poked his cheek, breaking him from his thoughts, "Oh..."

"You don't need me to spoon feed you, now do you?" She teased playfully.

He snorted slightly, assuring her otherwise. It took him a moment, but he picked up his assigned utensils and hesitantly shoveled in a mouthful of the Butter Chicken. He just seemed to pause following this.

"... Too hot for you?" Claire asked, watching him closely. Once more he took a moment – he heard her, but responding seemed a bit difficult.

"... I'm so happy right now I wanna cry." He replied quietly.

Claire flinched and put a hand on his shoulder, "Y-you're literally tearing up! Jeez, all you got was the same stuff as me..."

"I guess it goes without saying that you weren't exactly fed some nice food." Jill commented between taking a few bites of roti.

"I thought you looked a bit underweight when I was looking over you before..." Claire paused, feeling utterly stupid for not understanding in the first place. Without any further pause, she scraped the rest of her food onto Steve's plate, "Well... Here's to a good meal and freedom. I'll have those crumpets instead."

"Are you sure...?" The question was a given – Claire simply nodded, waving Steve on to continue. He paused, letting it register. "I'd say no but, gah—"

Claire shouted in surprise as he embraced her tightly; she had to pat him on the back to let him know she couldn't breathe particularly well. "Whoa, okay, you're welcome! Heh, I'll have to get you some good steak tomorrow I think."

There was a soft sniffling sound.

"Uh, Chris?" Jill poked her husband in the arm.

"I feel for a man who's been denied steak..." Chris muttered, looking away as if he were going to shed a tear. "Make sure you get a T-bone, Claire."

"I was thinking scotch, but I don't see why not both."

The rest of the meal passed in a moderate quiet nature, seeming to be better with good company rather than conversation. Given that it hadn't been a slew of threats to the young guest, a quiet atmosphere didn't sound like too bad of a situation. Steve had polished off his and the extra serving with ease, and it was honestly a little saddening.

"You're all cruel, I just want you to know that." Chris sighed, gathering up the plates. He'd dished out the food, and was now somehow roped into cleaning everything up as well. Was there any justice in the world.

"I'll help~" Evans offered quickly, sprinting to the kitchen before Chris had a time to reject the offer.

"Looks like you have a bigger job with Evans helping you, have fun honey." Jill said, patting her stomach as a clear reminder that she got to sit out of the manual labour.

"I hope he kicks you extra good for me." Chris pouted, juggling the dishes and heading back into the land of food-related appliances.

Claire poked her tongue at her brother as he left. She drummed her fingers on the wooden table, pleased with the meal. As she'd mentioned to Evans before, she had made ordering in quite a rare treat. She paused, feeling a gaze. She turned to Steve.

"Hm? Something wrong?" Claire quizzed. "... Oh! Steve, your ey—" She had tried to point out to Steve that both of his eyes were suddenly red, but before she could get the words out of her mouth, he had grabbed her shoulders roughly and pulled her forward.

She squeaked in surprise, and quickly moved to silent shock as he pressed his tongue against her cheek and licked her. She wasn't quite sure if it was the fact his tongue was blue and the texture was odd that caught her most by surprise, or just how oddly long it was now.

He gave an odd, soft purring while nuzzling his cheek against hers, before letting go of her and seemingly shaking off the odd grip on himself. He appeared almost dazed for a moment, blinking a few times as the blue colouration returned to his right eye. The two stared at each other before he raised an eyebrow, "... What are you staring at me for?"

"Uh, could you tell me why you did that just now?"

The young man tilted his head slightly, "Did what, exactly?"

"Okay, Steve." Claire began seeming more confused than Steve suddenly was, tapping his shoulders as if to try and ward him off from repeating the action, "One, you just licked me like a dog. … Two, you have a skink tongue."

"I... Don't remember doing that." Steve stated blankly. He shifted his tongue in his mouth, as if checking Claire's information. Now that he thought about it, that did seem like a good description – he could easily touch his nose with his tongue now, and he'd noted the sharper alignment in shape.

Claire crossed her arms, not necessarily amused, but mostly bewildered by his response. "Out with it- before Chris finishes with the dishes."

"Now I'm curious." Jill commented, leaning back a tad in her seat.

"I really don't know what you're talking about." Steve sighed, becoming a little agitated by the situation.

Jill turned to Claire, idly pointing towards Steve. "Wait, how long did you say he's been here smooching up to you?"

"Long enough it seems…" Claire mused, before pushing her shoulder next to Steve and cuddling into him. "Were you trying to scent me or something?"

"What the hell ev... I'll build you a nest out of stolen shit or something, can we maybe not talk about it?" Steve shrunk away from Claire, pouting. The fact she'd even think about that...

"I can say from experience that sex seems like the most efficient way to get your smell on someone." Jill nodded knowingly. Claire shook her head.

"Nah, I wanna see a cute mating dance first." Claire stated firmly, looking at Steve expectantly.

"I don't know if I'm scared or offended again." He sighed, looking away from the pair.

Claire laughed a little to herself, before placing her hand on Steve's lap. "So you seriously can't-?"

"No!" Steve exclaimed, visibly upset, "Fuck, if you're both being serious... That's making me feel like a damn creeper."

"Well, I still think you're cute, even if you're a bit odd." Claire stated confidently, rubbing Steve's leg. He looked down, blushing quite furiously.

"Claire! Hands!"

Claire sat up straight and slammed her hands onto the table. Even now her brother still had good timing to startle the hell out of the poor girl.

Chris scrawled, although his expression looked considerably less intimidating whole he was wearing an apron. Claire did her best not to laugh, before trying her best to nip the issue in the bud.

"Chris - I am your sister, you should know me by now. I'm going to have my family, live my life, and be happy, and you should be beating up anyone who tries to get in the way of that." She stated forwardly. Although with a confident tone, it wasn't clear if she actually thought it would work in the slightest.

"Don't you do that already?" Chris quizzed, drying one of the plates as he spoke.

"Exactly, and with our powers combined, no-one dare get in the way of your fists!" She exclaimed with pride.

"Or your feet," He pointed out to her, flipping the towel in his hand as he motioned to her. "That kick of yours is nasty.'

"You have no-one to blame but yourself." Claire placed her hands on her hips, puffing her cheeks out with annoyance. "I said don't touch my yogurt, you were warned, but you ate it anyway."

"I'm not dropping this, be warned." Chris stated, walking backwards into the kitchen - slowly and cautiously, not particularly wanting to trip over Evans.

She bit her lip, continuing to try not to laugh at the sight before she turned her attention to Jill.

"So... Is Beccy coming?" She asked, perking Steve's curiousity. It wasn't a name he recalled.

"Oh, I'm sorry Claire, I forgot. Felicity ended up answering, turns out her mother's on a nightshift tonight." Jill explained, shaking her head, "So tonight is a no go."

"That's kind of a relief, to be honest. It gives me some time to think of how to explain this without giving her a heart attack." She looked at Steve as she spoke, unable to hide a smile. What he said earlier about not being able to help the reaction seemed to ring true. Her heart gave a light flutter and she looked back to Jill, before her cheeks had a chance to turn red. "What was little Fel doing at home all alone?"

"Oh, I'm sure her dad's there, too. I imagine Lillian is home as well, but it's not something I asked about." Jill shrugged. "Although, those girls aren't too little anymore, come to think of it."

"There is something wrong with this situation when Rebecca's daughters are the eldest of the group's children!" Chris called from the kitchen, taking a quick glance at his son. Evans huffed.

"Felly's too big to play with." He whined, apparently quite upset with this.

"Uh Chris, what about Moira?" Claire called back. She received no reply for some time.

"... Shhh, my memory's bad."

"You are a terrible friend for poor Barry, you know that?"


	4. Narcissus

A/N:

Sooo I've been a bit delayed with this due to my mind being all over the place. I've been quietly working on chapters for Chanson Des Loups, Je M'en Fous and another RE story ('Fait Accompli') working on 4 stories at once is never a good idea but that didn't stop me when I first started haha (Than again maybe that's why I've never finished a story?!)

So ah, thanks for baring with me! I'll be doing my best not to disappoint.

**InuSBfan87** – -hands tissues- Glad to hear! I imagine his parents keep him raised pretty well, hehe~. One of the few non-brat sort of kids I've written in my stories. Yay!

**Fortuzula** – Glad to hear, thank you! I'll keep trying to do my best! (and kicking my own butt to open my word documents haha)

**Actionsparda** – Thanks. In all honesty I noticed the conflicts myself but couldn't think of a way to really flesh it out enough to make the theme switching less… Flippant? In my head it makes sense from Claire (just trying to put on a happy face), but it is a bit off. I'm glad it wasn't just my mind kinda making up the issue. I'll be working on trying to make my writing a little less all over the place!

Resident Evil belongs to Capcom.

* * *

With post-dinner discussions aside, the night was beginning to wind down. Evans had already managed to fall asleep, halfway fallen off of the couch. The child had interesting ways of snoozing his way through the night. If it weren't for the fact that Evans slept like a log, he would have been quite a hassle to move later on. It was clear the little boy took after his father.

Claire was tapping her fingers on the table, losing rhythm every few moments. Any and all conversation had since ended, and the silence was persistent. Chris sat with his arms crossed, waiting patiently for the inevitable inquiry.

"So uhhh," Claire had began, sighing with a frown. "You're all still staying?"

Chris gave a confident nod in return. "Yep."

Claire pursed her lips and pouted, leaning her elbows on the table. "You're so infuriating."

"I'm a big brother and I have duties to uphold, Claire." He stated this matter-of-factly, but his smirked let slip the fact he got some joy out of annoying his sister in this way.

She mumbled a loud 'hmph' as she rose from her seat, followed closely by Steve. She raised a hand to halt him - to his dismay - before continuing on her way to one of the large wall-storage wardrobes that was built into one of the lounge's walls. She needed no time searching, just pulling open one of the doors and dragging out a large doona.

She noticed the groups surprisingly confused looks and shrugged, pulling out a sheet along with it. "I have less clothes and more general bedding stored away." She explained to a rather bewildered Steve. "Clothes shopping's never really been my thing. Mostly stole Chris' clothes as a kid. Still do occasionally."

"Well, anything seems to look good on you."

For his statement Steve earned a plush pillow to the face. "Gah!"

"There's no need for compliments, do not worry!" Claire cheered, pulling out a few more pillows and tossing them over to the sofas, "The hugs will come, you will be hugged! There is no escape!"

"Why do I feel like that's a reference to something?"

Jill once again told her husband to shush, although pondered the thought as well.

Brushing this aside, Chris took a moment to look at the pillow Steve held, then to the floor beside the sofa. "Are you sure you're alright with the floor?"

"Of course! The floor has supported me through my hardest times." She assured him, closing the door with her foot as she dragged everything over. "Jill, the bed should already be fine for you and Evans, so don't feel like you have to fiddle around with the dusty sleeping hazards."

"The hazard comment concerns me, but I can't argue if it keeps me from having to lift anything." Jill had to take a moment to wonder what exactly was hazardous about a bunch of pillows and some duvets.

Claire just haphazardly threw the minimal requirements on each couch, secretly a little jealous that the men got the couch cushions, but there was no point complaining about that now. She just made sure to use several of the doonas as a temporary mattress on the ground, although it came to look more like some sort of odd nest with a pillow carelessly throw ahead of it.

She took a moment to turn her attention to her own attire. The stitching on her clothes would just press into her skin while she tried to sleep that night – had she thought ahead, she would have just popped on some pajamas straight after the bath incident. Should have, would have, could have…

"Alright, if the rest of you are set, I'm going to go get changed."

Steve had immediately pepped up at this, practically jumping out of his seat. "You're not locking me out this time." Even if he was trying to sound stern, he sounded far too happy to carry such a tone in his voice.

"You're scarily eager about this," Claire pointed out, though seemed more amused than anything else. "Fine fine, follow me."

Steve did so loyally, following her swiftly down the hall.

"This is me, not approving of this!" Chris simply went ignored, for the most part.

Walking through that door at the end of the hall only seemed to stun Steve by how deceptively large the house itself seemed to be. While the kitchen and lounge were joined, the rest of the house was generously spacious – where he was now being no exception.

He took special consideration with observing the room he had previously been locked outside of – or rooms, rather. The main room itself contained a couch and a few small comforts, while there are three doors – one was the entrance that they'd just walked though.

"There are two bathrooms," Claire explained, noticing Steve's curiousity as she pointed to the door to left of the room. "There's the main one with the tub I threw you in, and the small one connected to this room. It's honestly better than roaming around in the middle of the night trying to find a bathroom down the hall."

"And the other door?" He quizzed.

"Bedroom."

"It's pretty clear this house wasn't meant for one person."

"Yep! I've mostly been using the big space to foster animals, funnily enough…" She paused, "Something up? You're pretty quiet out of nowhere."

He hummed softly as he glanced at Claire. He offered a slight shrug, turning his attention back to the worn-out couch. "I'm trying to figure out why you have an extra couch in here, is all. I thought you only had the two."

"It's a fold-out. When Evans stays over he gets my bed, and I sleep on the fold out. That way I can keep a better eye on him." It was fairly simple, and explained some of the cables in the room to accommodate appropriate appliances – cables particularly for a laptop were most noticeable.

"You really do plan ahead when it comes to your nephew…"

"What can I say? I love my family."

"Why not just sleep on the foldout tonight?"

She gave him a look which seemed to be the visual definition of 'you're kidding me, right?'. When the reason didn't seem to click for Steve, she reluctantly explained – bluntly. "Do you really expect me to leave you unguarded with an overprotective big brother in the house?"

"That's a pretty good point you raise there!"

She smiled and laughed to herself softly. If Steve didn't start learning fast about Chris' brotherly nature, he was going to wind up pretty beat up by the end of the week. She mused about this for a moment as she walked into her bedroom, heading straight for the vanity beside the bed. She leaned against it, using it as a support as she preoccupied herself with undoing the ponytail that held her hair up. Whenever she slept with it tied high, she always woke up with a terrible headache.

She quickly checked over her appearance, sighing as she unbuttoned her shirt and placed it in front of her. Yes, she was definitely lacking sleep – the darkness under her eyes were beginning to show, and it wasn't an overly attractive look.

She paused for a moment, noting Steve behind her. The heat from him was a dead giveaway of his presence – seeing him in the mirror helped, too. She drummed her fingers on the top of the wooden top, before deciding it best to call him out on his rude entry into her bedroom.

"What exactly are you-" Her body tensed, mostly from surprise of the teeth digging in between her shoulder and neck.

She could see him in the reflection – Yes, he had most certainly bitten her. Both of his eyes glowed red as they had earlier, and his gaze stared back at her through the mirror. The change was sudden, and his mood seemed entirely different from the jovial behaviour of before. It seemed far more intense.

The heat of her blood trickling down her skin made her feel more uncomfortable than the biting. Actually, that was the weird thing. She bled, but the bite itself was relatively gentle, as if it were just to keep her from leaving. She was suddenly reminded of cats, and immediately regretted having kept Felidae on the list of her favourite movies. While flattered, this wasn't the most… Conventional of courtship methods she had heard of outside of the documentary channel. Honestly, she wasn't entirely sure on how to defuse the situation.

She took a moment to collect herself, unable to break the eye contact she held with him though the mirage of the reflection. "Settle down, cowboy." She said, tapping his forehead in the process. "Stop that."

He grunted loudly, pressing his chest firmly against her back. Claire sighed heavily, a mixture of frustration at him not being keen on listening, and also being rather concerned about how things could possibly play out if he remained unwilling to obey her. He rested his claws on her hip, his other hand sneaking up over her chest. She managed to refrain from shouting out as his hands made contact with her skin.

"I know you've been waiting a long time, but wait a bit longer, alright?" She spoke strongly, as if commanding a dog. She wasn't eager to raise her voice, in case it simply encouraged him.

She could feel the vibration of his growling against her skin – it somehow complimenting the feeling of his heartbeat that was pressed against her back – both were fast, but strong. It appeared they both had mixed emotions, even if Steve was in a rather confused state. He ran his tongue across her skin while still holding his bite firmly.

She bit her bottom lip, trying not to react.

"Now Steve, let go." She commanded sternly. She reached her arm over her shoulder, grabbing hold of his hair roughly. It caused him to move slightly, temporarily pushing his canines in a fraction further. She flinched, the whole thing being quite painful with the additional pressure. "Fuck…! Behave. I have a feeling you're not going to remember any of this again."

He whined, slightly muted from her skin but still quite audible, reluctant to release his grip on her. With her free hand she laced her fingers around one of his talon claws, pulling his palm off of her slowly.

"If you come to your senses before you decide to let go of me, you're going to be bloody embarrassed." She lectured, not entirely sure if he was even aware of what embarrassment was in this stage.

His whining ceased for a moment, as if he were thinking it over. Perhaps even in that state he was able to understand her logic. Although hesitant, he released his bite, whining once more and licking the bite mark as if to apologize for the physical pain it inflicted. He rested his chin on her shoulder, and she ran her hand through his hair.

"Good boy. I admit, if you act like this with anyone else… I might have to bash some heads in. Stupid monster boyfriends…" She stated, before pushing against him to move him back. He did so whilst wearing a disappointed expression. She turned around and patted his chest, sighing before ducking off to the bathroom to inspect the injury he'd lovingly left behind.

She yanked open the mirror cabinet, quite thankful that she packed so many first aid kits in and around her home. One of the small ones, but it would do. She shuddered - the blood had dripped further down her chest with Steve not there to stem the blood flow.

She hastily wiped the crimson away and grabbed one of cotton swabs stuffed into the kit. She practically drowned it in the bottle of medical alcohol.

"I wonder if that's going to leave a scar? Never thought I'd have literal love marks. That's worse than a hickey…" She groaned, although she was emotionally still taken aback by the whole scene. There was a faint glint of red in the mirror, and Claire quickly turned around to scold the boy standing halfway shadowed by the door.

"Shoo! Bad boy, sit on the couch!"

Steve began to growl lowly again, and Claire raised her hand to halt him. "I said _couch_. **Now**."

He seemed to ponder this, just as his right eye began to dim slightly. Without another display of defiance, he sauntered out of sight.

Claire sighed and turned her attention back to her own treatment, dabbing the chemical onto her skin. She hadn't actually braced herself for it.

"Shit! That stings like a bitch…" She winced, pressing the alcohol drenched swab against each puncture. They weren't as deep as they could have been, but the cleaning was not enjoyable. For a split second her mind panicked about the virus, but she shook her head. "What's done is done… I'll have to get looked at, but there's no point worrying about it tonight – I can't secure pickup until…"

She stopped and sighed, tossing the cotton into the sink and preparing another. That too was not something she should be thinking about at the moment.

Another pat down with the newly assigned swab, swiftly followed by a continued slew of curse words.

"Now I'm all flustered. Jackass…"

She continued to mumble obscenities to herself as she hunted around the contents of the box. The foam dressing should have sufficed; it worked for the dog bite she had awhile back. Mepilex - that was it. She unwrapped the cumbersome thing and applied it the best she could with the assistance of the bathroom mirror.

Not perfect, but it would do until she spoke to Rebecca – That, and it would prevent Steve from seeing the damage he'd accidentally dealt. The last thing he needed was to put himself through a guilt trip over something he seemingly couldn't control.

She lazily tossed the excess in the waste-bin and left back to the room.

It wasn't hard to tell that Steve had snapped back to his senses. He'd seated himself on the couch, and was leaning forward while fiddling with his hands, seemingly anxious to be away from her.

She simply watched for a moment, noting down the change in demeanor – She was glad she didn't have to return to another potential love-biting session that could escalate.

'_Firm hand, got it_.' She noted in her mind. It was her best guess on how to control him when he started acting up.

"I don't like that way you look at me." Steve spoke as soon as he noticed Claire re-enter the room. "… Did I do something weird again?"

"Maybe just a little bit weird." She admitted with a shrug, walking over to him and placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Ah Shit… The fuck did I do?"

Claire smiled, giving Steve a light hit-upside the head. He whined, which for a moment made Claire flinch, although apparently not enough to concern the young man. "It doesn't matter, it gave me a laugh." She explained, "We should get an early night - And no funny business, got that?"

Steve tensed and sat upright, his face flushed at the mention. "I wouldn't…!" He began, but Claire turned to leave and finish getting changed in her room.

"Sureeee babe. Just no biting other women." She closed the door behind her, locking it this time, leaving Steve on his lonesome to sort out his own attire.

"I'm totally confused…"

The younger Redfield rummaged around the bottom chest of the bedroom's draws. The house itself was a warm temperature, but she'd have to sacrifice comfortable sleeping this time around. Any thin fabric sleepwear would just bring the patchwork to attention.

A little disgruntled, she slipped one of the long sleeved jackets over her shoulders and buttoned it up quickly. Slightly uncomfortable, but the long sleeves along with the collar seemed to make all the evidence disappear from view.

"It's times like this I wish I'd actually invested in those cute onesie things."

She normally would have just settled with the top, but given the guests in the house, it was decided that a pair of shorts would be a good idea for everyone involved. She slammed the draws shut, before pressing a hand against the bandage again. Ouch. Yep. Still hurt – why she thought any different she didn't know.

With a click of the lock she sauntered out, calling for Jill and Evans to claim the now free bedroom. She looked at Steve while he got off of the couch and stood beside her – The clothes he had on now would be fine enough to sleep in.

Jill must have been waiting outside, as it was only a short moment before she walked through the door, carrying her still snoozing son in her arms. She raised a brow as Claire grabbed Steve's wrist, leading quickly past the other duo.

"Are you alright Claire? You look like your feathers have been ruffled by something." Jill called after her.

"They haaaaave!"

The young woman's complaint confused her, but she was already out of the room and down the hall with Steve before Jill could inquire about it. She shrugged, quite happy that Evans had managed to stay asleep following the response. She simply carried her son to the bedroom and closed the door behind her, knowing just how much her husband's snoring could echo through houses at times.

This already seemed evident as Claire and Steve got back to the lounge – Chris seemed to have gone off to slumber land fairly easily, and his snoring prove to be a bit of an obstacle for the two's own sleeping endeavours. "I swear he's only gotten louder over the last few years…"

Claire let go of her hold on Steve, practically diving onto the bed pile on the floor. She was honestly still a bit… Prickly about what had happened, and the wound still ached. She just wanted to sleep it off, truthfully.

Steve hesitated for a moment as he sat on his assigned sofa. Tugging the surprisingly light duvet over himself, he couldn't help but question Claire's comfort on the mess beside him. He did feel fairly guilty with the woman sleeping on the floor of her own house.

"… You're positive you're alright there? You could probably manage to fit up here with me." Steve pestered.

While she would have loved entertained the thought, she knew better. "I'd just kick you off the couch. Trust me on that one. Just try and have a good rest, okay? Now goodnight! Love you, Steve."

"Ah, I… Love you too."

Claire seemed contented enough wrapping herself up with the assortment of blankets, despite the mild temperature in the house. She'd kick them off later no doubt, but in the mean time, the soft surroundings helped her drift off to sleep.

With some tossing and turning, Steve managed to do the same – albeit a fairly light sleep.

* * *

_It was odd. He couldn't recall this area. Come to think of it, there hadn't been any point of his incarceration that he'd been able to walk the halls of the facility without supervision – supervision, and a shock collar around his neck with enough volts to take down an elephant._

_He placed a hand on the wall, running his fingers across it. The paint seemed as if it were fresh, having only recently dried. A formally 'under construction' area, maybe... He'd been dragged down through practically all the maze-like corridors in the facility at least once. The only rooms he wasn't familiar with were some of the offices and single experiment holding cells. _

_It wasn't a time to question his good fortune, or how he got there. He was sure that there were cameras recording his movements, but there wasn't likely to be another chance to explore the halls and find his way out. If he could do this without leaving any casualties, all the better._

_He stepped forward, testing the waters. His footstep echoed lightly, but nothing was caught by the attention. Silence and calm reigned dominate. He smiled, feeling a rush of joy fill him. Perhaps all the guards had died in their sleep or were on call somewhere else – he didn't care._

_His hesitance aside, he sprinted down the hall. Each corner he passed lead off down another pristine white domain, maintaining the sterile environment. He slowed as his path up ahead began to near its own turn off into the unknown._

_'I don't like this…'_

_He halted immediately. That wasn't one of his thoughts. It bore a vague familiarity to it, but it was not his own. The sound had snuck its way into his mind – as if it were a message for him._

_He stared down the hall. The dull walls faded into blackness, the bright lights above not even penetrating the dark void that engulfed the path. Everything in his body screamed to turn around and find an alternate route, but he was positive this was the way to the hanger - the only way. What made him so sure of this he didn't know – it was like instincts._

_He checked his sides. He was entirely unprepared for anything that could jump him – Guard or other prisoner alike. He glanced at his left arm – and nothing. The back of his head began to burn with pain as he tried to think about why exactly it should have been any different to his right, and he quickly dismissed the thought before a migraine could set in._

_He took a deep breath, taking a step around the corner. The industrial-powered lights flickered once, causing Steve to freeze. He was expecting something to leap out from the shadow and sink its teeth into him. _

_He gave a nervous laugh as no such thing appeared, and moved forward once again._

_'It hurts!'_

_Steve tried to ignore the words that jumped into his mind, and they were soon unimportant as he slipped on something on the ground. He narrowly caught himself, sliding on some sort of muck under his boot. He quickly tried to find what it was that had made him lose his footing, and spotted it –_

_There was a crack in the ground, large enough to be a mouse-hole. A black substance oozed from it, surrounding what looked almost like a wet slab of flesh. It squirmed, as if reacting in pain from the prior impact – whatever it was, it was alive. Steve took a step forward while watching it, hoping it wouldn't turn out to be far larger than it appeared._

_Something must have happened. Live decorations weren't something that was workplace appropriate. Although he'd seen a lot, it did not appear to resemble anything he'd witnessed in the experiment chambers._

_'I can't breathe…!'_

_Sheer dread. He looked down the hall, which was still suffocated by the shadows further down the path. The smart thing would be to run back, but a sense of freedom pulled from the dark corners. Surely whatever it was, he could handle. He patted his chest, as if trying to coax his heart to decrease its incessant beating._

_He took another step forward, and the lights cut._

_With the lights gone, a disgusting stench permeated through the air. A mixture of both old and fresh blood, bile... And decomposing flesh, which only seemed to strengthen with each passing second._

_"Well, I always knew escape would never be easy..." He tried to console himself. It didn't work._

_He took a step forward, feeling around the terrain cautiously for any alterations. A second step, and he felt another hazard underneath him. The lights around the corner he had passed though sprung to life, lightly illuminating his view._

_It was another of the slithers of flesh, this one wiggling vigorously under his step. He quickly kicked it into the darkness, not thinking that he would be likely to just step on it again further along. The ooze clung to his boot, and seemed almost alive itself. He could spy just a small bit of movement – within it, there appeared to be maggots squirming with life._

_He bit the inside of his cheek, willing himself forward again. He would have given anything for a gun at this point in time, even if the hazard appeared to be more of an annoyance than any real threat._

_'I feel it moving under my skin…'_

_Once more he moved forward, only some distance in his foot fell upon something of an entirely different nature. It cracked underneath his weight, a loud meaty noise following it. He felt his stomach churn, and immediately knew why as the rest of the lights blared back into existence._

_He'd stood on the small remainder of one of the facility's guards. If it weren't for the logo on the tattered clothing attached to the arm, he would never have guessed. The rest of the body was in sight, but some distance away from the torn limb – and not on its own._

_It wasn't as if the macabre was something that Steve wasn't used to, but something seemed very... Off about it. Hidden amongst the smell and the crimson soaking the wall, seeped a feeling of spite. Nothing done here was driven by a virus' hunger –_

_Regardless of the creature ahead, surrounded by the leftover offal from the slayings._

_It was large, clearly the source of the foul odour – its own flesh seemed to be slowly slipping off of its own body, only to be hastily replaced with samples of its kills. Its head scraped the roof of the hallway, its bulky frame blocking the path. Each muscle in its body seemed to tear through itself, as if constantly growing. Its back was arched, spine scraping against the wall. Each bite it ingested simply littered the ground, seeping from its torn stomach to join its own organs._

_'I'm not me anymore, am I?'_

_Its face seemed to have pushed its way though its own skin, as the blood soaked tan colour rested behind its eyes, stretched and tearing. It seemed like it must have been human at one stage, the rest of the cadaver torn and barely clinging in limited spots of its body. Thick sludge seeped from it, twisting and turning with the maggots and living flesh he had seen before, in almost uncountable numbers. Each hole in the surrounding area was filled with the pulsing masses, feeling out other rooms of the facility._

_Each ripped opening in its body had several of the same fleshy worms coursing though them, snaking in curling around into other injuries on the creature – they seemed to be what animated most of its being. An extra set of large, decomposing clawed hands pressed up against the ceiling, as if trying to make space for itself._

_One of its large fists was wrapped around the body of a very much alive guard. He'd lost his gun, and was now just trying desperately to pry the creature's fingers from around his body. His yelling was nothing more than silence, making no sound over the beasts ragged breathing._

_The creature's mouth hung open, full of an impossible amount of teeth, reaching back to the pulled back skin. Without even acknowledging Steve, it slammed its massive maw closed on the guard, encasing the whole upper body of the man._

_It pulled its head back and tore through the guard. The foul remains hung from the remaining half of the guard, threatening to assist in encasing the ground below._

_'It's chewing its way through me…'_

_Its legs were bent inhumanly, resting most of its weight on its knees the rest of its legs were hidden in the mass of absorbed flesh underneath it – only the large claws on its misshaped feet were barely visible, piercing through its own rotting body. The creature only seemed to lean back on this as it threw its head back, violently snapping its jaw to bring down its meal._

_It tossed the remains across the hall, far past Steve – it hit the corner wall with a morbid 'splat' and quickly slunk down the wall. Steve hastily wiped away blood that had landed on his face from the throw, yet found himself unable to take his eyes off of the behemoth in front of him._

_The beast opened its mouth to speak, but only a mess of pitched static echoed through the area. Steve had to cover his ears, the frequency sending splits of pain through his head._

_Its teeth began to chatter rapidly, like some sort of windup toy. It made a grab for the ground with its now free palms, grabbing hold of the late-guard's shotguns. It looked like nothing more than a small revolver in the large mass. It opened its mouth, forcing the gun into its oversized maw and pushing the barrel against the back of its throat. The flesh on its back sprung forward, tugging at the creatures arms as if trying to fight its own action._

_One milky eye rolled forward, displaying a dulled iris that stared dead at Steve as it smiled, claws slipping over the gun's trigger._

_One last statement was whispered though the air, barely audible in his mind._

_'I'm just a monster now.'_

* * *

He woke up with a start, nearly falling off of the sofa. The sound of the gunshot seemed to still ring in his ears. It took a moment for it to disappear, as if falling back into the darkness of his mind.

He checked his left arm. The mutation was still present... At least he knew he wasn't still caught up in his nightmare. He slumped down on his stomach, letting his arm drape down and brush against the carpet.

'_Insomnia's starting to sound like a pretty good thing_,' He thought, considering muttering the words to himself would result in a mouthful of leather, '_If that's not what I have already..._'

His chest tightened as he glanced to the floor. Despite it entire lack of light, he could see just fine. Chris was still collapsed on the other sofa – snoring, to boot – but…

"Claire!"

The lack of her presence seemed to trigger a sudden wave of panic within the man. He jolted upright, searching the room with his eyes to try and spot her.

There was a quick 'Shh!' from the kitchen as Claire leaned past the door-frame, trying to peer through the darkness. "Quiet, you'll wake Chris up." Simply hearing Claire's voice immediately made the ache in his chest cease, the tension throughout his body quickly melting away. "I'm at the fridge, just a second and I'll get something for you, too."

The clatter of a few glasses and the opening and closing of pantries could be heard – by all means, in the dark Claire was barely able to navigate even her own cupboards. Admittedly, it was mildly embarrassing.

A bit too late for the most part, she'd finally flicked the kitchen light on so she could at least save pride by not tripping over the carpet. She decided she'd just turn the lights off in the morning – the electricity bills hadn't been too bad as of late.

"Here, drink." She held one of the less decorated mugs out to Steve as she walked back to the couch, waiting a moment as if for approval.

Steve took a moment to inspect the item in her hand. "… More milk?" He quizzed, looking from Claire to the mug before back again, "I thought it was off by now, considering earlier."

Claire bit her lip – she'd tell him about her nephews crafty stealth techniques another time. She shook her head before slipping the cup into his hands and sitting down beside him.

"No chocolate." She assured him as he cautiously looked it over in his grasp, "Just warm milk and a dash of honey. It's meant to help you sleep."

"How'd you know I'd be waking up?"

"I didn't, it was for me." She shrugged, looking back to second mug she now held with both hands. "I haven't slept through a night without waking up in years. There's been a lot of nightmares, occasional night terrors, and all that other good stuff."

Steve was silent for that moment, not entirely sure how to respond. He rested his free and on Claire's shoulder, wanting desperately to show her comfort on the matter.

"I guess we're both emotional wrecks." She sighed, having done so without noticing. She took a large sip of her own drink before petting Steve's hand. "Try it, worked pretty well for the first few weeks when I tried it. I don't cry as much anymore."

"Claire…

"Said too much, huh?" She gave a weak smile, as if trying to cover up the hints of sadness she had let slip just moments before. "Just drink up. If it doesn't help at all, I have some sleepy-time tea hidden away in the cupboards somewhere. It might be a good time to dig them out again."

While he wasn't eager for a drink, he decided to do so just to placate the woman. He stared at the contents in the porcelain container, tilting his hand slightly and watching the liquid move. There wasn't too much in there, as if Claire had anticipated his reluctance.

The mug was snatched from his hand before Steve could convince himself to follow Claire's lead. It would seem that neither of the two had noticed Chris in front of them, with one hand on his hip – and now the mug in the other.

"If you're not planning on drinking it, I'll take it off your hands."

"When did you wake up? You usually sleep like a log." Claire snorted, though the colour from her face quickly drained, "… How long have you been listening?"

"I've been up long enough to hear most of what you said." His response just lead to whatever vibrancy had been left to seep away as well. His sister quickly searched for words to try and worm her way out of a heart-to-heart.

Chris raised his hand, signaling her not to bother. He sighed, taking a sip from the stolen mug before carrying on. "If you needed someone to talk to, Claire," He had begun, but Claire had wiggled uncomfortably in her seat, avoiding eye contact with her brother as she cut him off.

"And you have your own growing family to take care of," She stated, half-hearted in her response, "I know you're here for me big brother but… It would be selfish of me to drag you away from your own issues."

Chris frowned, concentrating on Claire. In the dim light and with her eyes cast away from him, it was difficult for him to read her. "That's bullshit and you know it. No matter what it is, you talk to me." He was stern in his scolding, but there was no denying the concern in his voice. "I've been there since before mum and dad died, and I won't stop being there now, no matter what my situation is."

Steve had moved his hands to his lap, and seemed rather surprised by the new information. "Oh, so…" Granted, he hadn't intended to speak, his thoughts escaping.

"I forgot you didn't know…" Claire straightened herself, handing Steve her own cup of milk as a replacement for the stolen goods. "Our parents passed away when we were young. Chris pretty much raised me since I hit the wonderful double digits."

Steve nodded, letting the information seek in. It wasn't something he could openly comment on or simply gloss over. Knowing that she and Chris had the same loss as he had made him regret acting up the way he had with the pair. Such a thing was a hard situation, regardless of time passing – he of all people knew that…

"I hope you understand why Chris is so eager to punch you in the face." She leaned against Steve's shoulder, mind trailing off for a moment as she recalled her parents. When Steve didn't respond, she continued. "He shouldn't need to; he brought me up to take on my own challenges. I never wanted to be a fighter, but that's just how things turn out."

"You_ are_ considerably badass…" Steve commented meekly.

"I used to be studying_ law_." She chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. "I didn't even manage to get to court before I started handing people their asses."

Chris chugged the milk as the conversation carried on, "I'd like to make it clear that doing it physical is a lot more refreshing."

"… Go back to sleep, Chris."

"… Fine." He'd pouted, placing the empty mug on the side drawer beside the sofa. He'd sort that out in the when the sun decided to wake him up - he'd done more than enough dishes for one night. "But we're discussing this in the morning."

Claire dismissed him with a simple 'Yeah, yeah…' as Chris flopped back onto the sofa, making his sister immediately concerned that he might end up breaking the darn thing. When it didn't give way, she turned her attention back to Steve.

"And you, too, Steve…"

"Don't even know if I can." He shrugged nonchalantly.

"You say that but the milk'll kick in soon enough. You were a bit restless when I got up earlier… Were you having a nightmare?"

Steve simply remained silent in response. He drank down the remainder of the beverage, handing the emptied cup to Claire. She placed it on the ground, assuming the two weren't likely to trip over it during the rest of the night. She shifted back to her makeshift bed, rubbing her eye wearily as she felt her tiredness begin to return.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"... Nah." He mumbled as he lay back down across the couch, resting his arms behind his head. He returned to being quiet for a few moments, before moving his right hand from under his head and reaching out to Claire. "Just, hold my hand?"

She smiled, grabbing hold of his palm as she herself laid down beside the couch. "You sure like to ask for a lot, don't you?"

"I'm a bit of a needy kid."

He gripped her hand tightly as his eyelids felt heavy, beginning to drift back off to sleep with surprising ease. Claire sighed to herself, hoping that he'd managed to remain peaceful through the rest of the night. She wasn't entirely sure what was going to be awaiting them in the morning, but she happened to guess that Steve had not had many times he could feel safe while he slept.

As a few moments passed, Claire felt it was safe to assume Steve had fallen asleep once again. The young man didn't appear to snore, but she felt fairly confident in the matter. She looked towards the opposite sofa, clearing her throat.

"You know, you should feel bad for eavesdropping, Chris."

Her brother inwardly cursed at being caught – he wasn't particularly good at faking such things. "I don't, it saves me interrogating him later."

"What could you possibly…? Sleep!" Claire rested her free hand across her stomach, staring up at the ceiling. "Also…"

"Hm?"

"… Thanks."

"S'all good Claire. Just stop hiding things from me. We're family." Chris rolled over, turning his back to the two. It was probably a good idea to sleep, given the fact Evans would no doubt be jumping on him to wake up in the early hours. "Love ya sis."

"I know. Love ya too, jerkface."


End file.
